Pride, Kunai, and Bulters
by melcon
Summary: Rooftop intrigue, a devilishly handsome butler, an annoying mother, and a certain Mr. Aoshi Darcy occupy Misao's thoughts as she navigates ball dresses and an offer from a strange young lord. Black Butler/Rurouni Kenshin/Pride and Prejudice crossover.
1. Tea and a Little Sympathy

**Author's note: A few months ago, my oldest brother introduced me to _Black_ _Butler,_ and I became an instant fan. I watched about 20 episodes during my last cold since I had copious amounts of time and no energy to do anything else. Since I am a devoted _BB_ fan, what better tribute to its genius than by pairing it with _Rurouni Kenshin_ (since I can't seem to write a fanfic story that does not base itself in the _RK _world) and Jane Austin? It's a triple crossover, so hang on to your hats and prepare yourself for madness!**

**_Black Butler, Rurouni Kenshin,_ and _Pride and Prejudice_ do not belong to me – I merely plagiarize liberally from them for my own twisted amusement. **

The wan moon was partially veiled by a passing cloud as a lithe, black-clothed figure nimbly footed its way across the roof of the house, toes seeking footholds in the steep roof, and fingers gripping the tiles expertly. Eyes like blue diamonds glittered in the faint moonlight as two attentive ears perked in interest, their attention directed at a small window shuttered closed but with cracks that loosened narrow beams of light into the darkness.

The figure crept closer, feet and hands soundless on the roof as the faint sound of two voices echoed softly from the shuttered window. The grade of the roof by the window was particularly steep, seemingly insurmountable, but with catlike grace, the eavesdropper scaled upwards, fingers finding invisible perches and reaching for the window's ledge.

Unexpectedly, a foot slipped on an invisible patch of moss and suddenly the climber was left clutching empty air, arms flailing as gravity asserted itself quite pointedly and assertively. With a loud crunch, the would-be intruder fell directly into the prickly embrace of a shrub. There was some violent thrashing movements, and then a furious string of expletives cut through the night air.

* * *

><p>Okina Bennet heard the noise and sighed to himself. <em>I told Misao not to climb the roof around the window; it is far too steep and unstable, <em>he thought irritably. Fatherly concern compelled him to hurry outside to ensure that his second-eldest daughter had not injured herself in her latest escapade, but the path out of his study was currently being blocked by his extremely animated and talkative wife.

"Mr. Bennet! Mr. Bennet! Have you heard? Netherland Park is at last let out!" The husband in question merely crooked an eyebrow a quarter of an inch, barely disturbing the stern wrinkles in his face in an entirely misguided hope that by remaining silent, his wife would drop the subject.

As he fully expected, she didn't. "Surely you _must_ have heard of something," Mrs. Riko Bennet persisted, tugging a little at his sleeve and almost causing him accidentally slice his finger open on the blade he was patiently stropping. Mr. Okina Bennet merely sighed, then turned his back a little from his wife, intent on sharpening the knife and not giving his wife the slightest encouragement. Mrs. Bennet was so consumed with unburdening her mind to her husband that the noise of their daughter falling from the roof and landing with a noisy crash in some shrubbery had completely escaped her attention; with luck, it would stay that way. Otherwise, he would have an extremely irate wife to contend with.

Mr. Bennet's sharp ear caught the sound of another muffled curse from Misao and a fresh volley of agitated thrashing sounds, and he smiled thinly. If his daughter was making that much noise outside, she had obviously walked away from her shrubby encounter relatively unscathed. Some patient humoring of Riko would hopefully be enough to redirect her attention elsewhere so that he could join Misao outside.

The lady in question was entirely undissuaded and wholly intent on standing her ground. "Don't you want to know who has taken it?" Mrs. Bennet insisted, her hands beginning to twitch in the wild parabolas her husband knew only so well.

Giving in, Mr. Bennet responded over his shoulder, "Not particularly my dear, but you seem to be quite insistent on telling me, so I am all ears."

"Oh, you tease!" Mrs. Bennet replied, poking her husband on the shoulder as he dutifully put down the sharpened knife and turned his patient eyes towards his wife. "Well, Mrs. Long says that Netherland Park has been taken by a certain Mr. Yahiko Bingley, a young man of great wealth, four or five thousand a year. And even better, no wife! Why, he will have his pick of our five girls! What fortune!"

"That is of course, my dear, if he can be persuaded to marry one of them," Mr. Bennet reminded his wife practically who batted away the sentence with a flutter of her hands.

"Nonsense! Surely one of our girls will be just the thing to catch his eye!" Her face had risen to a high color and she could barely sit still with excitement. Knowing that there was no reasoning with her when she was in this state, Mr. Bingley reached for wry humor, his only refuge in the face of one of his wife's many wild hairs.

"Well, if it pleases you, my dear, I will straightaway visit this Mr. Bingley and inform him that he has my full permission to marry whichever of our girls suits his fancy. Although," Mr. Bennet picked up the _kunai_ thoughtfully. "I must put in a good work for my little Misao." He tactfully omitted the fact that currently Misao was likely picking bark out of her teeth and checking herself for bruises after her unexpected tumble.

"Misao? My dear, must I remind you as I have done a thousand times, a girl who spends much of her day climbing trees and throwing knives is not likely to attract the eye of _any_ gentleman, much less a rich one," Mrs. Bennet responded a little hotly. "Surely Tusbame, handsome and graceful as she is, will be much more likely to catch Mr. Bingley's eye. But you are always giving _Misao_ preference."

"Well, my love, you were unable to provide me with boys, so I am beholden to you that you at least gave me a daughter with a good aim and excellent balance." Officially, Mr. Bennet was a gentleman desperately trying to maintain the standards of living someone of his station required on an inherited family fortune that was rapidly depleting. Unofficially, Mr. Bennet engaged in many ungentlemanly actions that his wife carefully avoided thinking overmuch about, involving espionage and weapons and which sometimes brought him home in torn, bloody clothes and hastily bandaged wounds that would add to his growing scar collection.

To Mrs. Bennet's eternal dismay, her second daughter Misao had shown a keen interest and aptitude for her father's unofficial line of work and he had been more than willing to teach her, despite her mother's endless admonitions that such activities would make it impossible for Misao to find any sort of decent husband and avoid incurring complete social ostracism. Only by eliciting a firm promise from both husband and daughter that they would keep Misao's activities a dead secret did Mrs. Bennet finally reluctantly allow her daughter to train in what she had long deemed as her husband's "outside interests" and kept reasonably quiet on those rare times she spotted father and daughter sneaking into the house in the dead of night, Misao unseemly garbed in trousers of all things and carrying weapons.

This had continued for the past ten years of Misao's life, and her mother had long given up any real aspiration that her daughter would make a decent marriage; her greatest hope for Misao was that not another living soul would discover what the girl got up to day and night. If word got out, the entire family would be ruined and there would be absolutely no reasonable way she could ever find husbands for her other four daughters. For Mrs. Bennet had only one goal in life and that was to see all of her daughters, with the reasonable exception of Misao, married off. She desperately hoped she could accomplish this goal before someone important happened to spot Misao scampering around with a brace of knives in her belt or a servant happened to blab the wrong word to the right person.

Mr. Bennet fingered the _kunai_ thoughtfully, and Mrs. Bennet shivered to see it. No doubt her husband was itching to join Misao in the carefully guarded room where even the servants did not enter so that he could put Misao through yet another training session with the horrid-looking weapon. However, she had not finished with him yet. Giving her husband one of the looks that usually got her the results she wanted, Mrs. Bennet said in a mixture of exasperation and coaxing, "Mr. Bennet, you simply _must_ visit Mr. Bingley."

"And why should I do that, my dear?" he responded wearily, eyes going to the _kunai_ he was twirling absentmindedly in his fingertips.

"Because if you don't, it will be impossible for us to visit him, you silly man!" she burst out impatiently.

Mr. Bennet sighed. He never could get the hang of all the impossibly complex social rules that permeated their society and was astonished by his wife's ability to pay attention to the slightest of nuances. It was foolish to think that he was required to pay a call on a complete stranger simply so that his wife could then descent upon the poor man and begin her campaign to browbeat him into marrying one of their girls. But knowing that she would not rest until her mission was accomplished, he silently pledged to pay a call on Netherland Park and make his acquaintance with the illustrious Mr. Bingley.

God help the poor boy's soul.

* * *

><p>"So your friend Mr. Bingley is settled in Netherland Park, is he Aoshi?" Lord Ciel Phantomhive sat carelessly in the high-backed chair, one leg slung over a cushioned arm, and languidly accepted a cup of tea from his ever-efficient butler, Sebastian Michaelis who stood poised and elegant as always, offering the beverage with flawless grace.<p>

Mr. Aoshi Darcy eyed the butler narrowly, the faintest trace of a smile on his face. Sebastian was the only man who had ever faced him with the sword and ended in a draw, Aoshi's twin _kodachi_ not enough to win the match which had ended with both men bleeding and eyes slitted in the heat of battle. Only the barest skim of civility had stayed Aoshi's hand, so determined was he to win the next round. _We shall have another match again, Sebastian Michaelis_, he promised himself silently. _And I will wear the title of the strongest of the strong after it is over._ Indeed, every time the men had crossed paths after their duel, that unspoken agreement would pass between them. But Aoshi knew that Sebastian lived and died by the word of his master and only on his command would the butler take up the sword again and face him.

_His master. _Turning his head away from the butler's tall frame, Aoshi cool eyes fell on the twelve year old lord of Phantomhive. _A child. A mere child. Yet...when is the last time I have thought of him as a child? _Aoshi questioned himself, automatically holding out his hand for the teacup and saucer Sebastian gracefully placed in his palm. Fine Wedgewood china and early flush Darjeeeling tea. He expected nothing less of the Phantomhive household.

No less of the lord itself. The one exposed eye, blue as the sea, was sharp and keen, missing nothing despite the patch covering the other orb. At the moment, its owner was silent, but Aoshi was familiar enough with Ciel to know that a vast chain of thoughts, plots, and ideas were methodically collecting inside that youthful head. Aoshi had not seen the lord of Phantomhive carefree and innocent since the Phantomhive manner had burnt to the ground, killing Ciel's family in the raging inferno. Like other concerned friends and acquaintances, he had assumed Ciel had died in the blaze and had been astonished when a month later the young lord appeared again and at his side an elegant, black-clothed figure that was his constant shadow.

"Yes, Yahiko Bingley has settled in quite nicely," Aoshi responded smoothly, lifting the cup to his lips. Perfect temperature, perfect steeping time. But then again, Sebastian did not do anything short of perfection. Aoshi's own butler Han'nya was excellent to a fault but even he could take a lesson or two from the pale, classically beautiful man currently bent over the teapot. In fact, Aoshi thought to himself with an inward smile, he long suspected that Han'nya secretly disliked Sebastian for that very same reason and maintained an unspoken but deeply felt one-sided rivalry that flared silently to life whenever the two men were in the same room.

"Good. He may be useful to our purposes," Ciel responded, his face taking on the stony expression Aoshi knew only too well. The older man gazed narrowly at his young companion, eyes cool and giving nothing away.

"More dogs for your kennel, Ciel?" Aoshi responded a trifle icily. He was one of a few men who familiarly addressed Lord Phantomhive by his Christian name and was welcome to do so.

Ciel's face grew harder. "Tell me, Aoshi, do you tire of barking?" he questioned darkly, one hand beginning to rub the blue sapphire ring on his thumb, a gesture Aoshi was quite familiar with; despite the guarded eye which hid the inner workings of his mind, Ciel's hands often betrayed him especially to those who knew him best.

Quietly, Aoshi responded, "The Darcys have never failed to serve the house of Phantomhive."

"No, you have not," the boy lord replied, almost sullenly. "And Phantomhive has not failed its guard dog duty for the Queen. Ever." The ring was rubbed again, and Aoshi stared at it pointedly.

"And what is it you wish for me to sniff out, Ciel?" Aoshi's icy voice grew business-like. "Has your butler failed to find you the information you need?" The last comment was thrown in Sebastian's direction, but the butler merely smiled enigmatically and said nothing

"Let's say that your contacts may be more useful in this case, Aoshi," Ciel responded coldly. "I am prepared to investigate all possible leads to find the information I need."

"Meaning that you currently are at a standstill," Aoshi interpreted smoothly for him, carefully stirring his tea with precise motions. Without a word, Sebastian stepped forward, elegantly proffering a pristine folder on a silver tray. Aoshi took it and began flipping through the contents, eyebrows raising a trifle. After a few minutes, he set the folder down on the table at his elbow.

"An interesting case, Ciel. I will inquire among my usual contacts." Letting a hint of something that sounded suspiciously like mild warmth into his voice, Aoshi continued, "A kennel mate of the Queen's watchdog must do his duty. And I shall see to it." Staring again at the boy across the room, Aoshi was struck anew by just how young the lad was. _Such a heavy burden he bears, grimly but absolutely_, he thought, feeling an unaccustomed curl of empathy rise up in him. He had known Ciel since the boy was just a few days old, born with a shadow across his soul and the weight of generations of duty lain across his tiny shoulders.

_The queen's watchdog,_ Aoshi thought with a grim smile. _And my chain is irrevocably linked to yours, Ciel Phantomhive. _


	2. Eavesdropping With Style and Finess

****Author's note: Sorry it has been so long. I wanted to finish up ****__**Steel and Soul**__** and have been besieged with other tasks, so this story fell behind. And honestly I feel I am slightly insane for trying to pull off a triple crossover and believing that it won't disintegrate into a festering pile of confusion before long. But I shall battle through and see what craziness leaks out of my fevered mind!**

_Damn corset,_ Misao grumbled to herself, mouthing the swear word with wicked defiance and wishing she could extricate herself from her one good ballgown and get back into her ninja outfit. A stiff piece of corset boning was rubbing determinedly against a fair-sized bruise on her hip and she was limping just slightly, both courtesy of the tumble she had taken off the roof three days ago. It wasn't the first time a training session with her father had left her with interesting bruises, but Misao had to admit that up to this point, she had yet to fall off the roof. _Well, there's always a first time for everything._

Frowning to herself, Misao scanned the ballroom. She had never been overly fond of these formal events, mainly because it required her to both dress up and act proper, two things that were not high on her list of preferred activities. It was rather ridiculous of Misao to spend one night flinging knives at a target and avoiding her father's attacks, then the next night have to mince about daintily acting all delicate and elegant, but she knew that she had to put on a fairly convincing front or her mother would never let her hear the end of it. Being a proper young lady in polite company was so wearyingly tedious it often made Misao want to scream.

Instead, she stood with her back straight and head dipped at a graceful angle, observing the activity swirling around her. The floor was overly crowded with waving plums and tailcoats, the sound of elegant voices rising and falling, and the soft glow of candlelight illuminating graceful figures dipping and turning across the dance floor. And then through the crowd, tall and looming, a man suddenly appeared as if he had apparated into their midst. His icy blue eyes swept the assembled throng with a measured, watchful glance, and Misao swore she saw something like disdain flitter across his face.

Most unfortunately her baser feminine instincts were too busy wholeheartedly admiring his broad shoulders and graceful, powerful movements to pay much attention to the fact that the man, whoever he was, didn't look particularly happy to be there and not at all inclined towards making friends while he was forced to stick around. As the evening progressed, Misao's hunch proved true because Aoshi Darcy, as the word got around what the man's name was, showed every indication of being an arrogant, uptight, thoroughly disagreeable person and whatever thumping interest had stirred up in Misao's veins upon first sighting the man quickly dissipated. It wasn't long before everyone else in the room started developing the same feelings and by the close of the night, it was clear Mr. Darcy hadn't come with any intentions of making a good impression and had wholeheartedly achieved this goal.

Fortunately, the young man at his side, who was none other than the estimable Mr. Yahiko Bingley, was cut of an entirely different cloth, and Misao was glad to see that the gentleman was both entirely agreeable and paid much close and courteous attention to her eldest sister Tsubame in a way that she was sure to spur their mother into wedding plots as soon as the family exited the building.

The dance continued, a whirling swirl of ball gowns and music and Misao quickly forgot the scowling, irritable Mr. Darcy. Despite her constricting corset and uncomfortable shoes, she liked dancing and threw herself into the movements with enthusiasm. Although dancing for Misao meant that inevitably there were one or two times when her partner seized her hand a little too tightly and she always had to beat down the urge to throw a good wrist lock on the gentleman and knock him to the ground. Luckily, she successfully avoided these inclinations and the night passed pleasantly without her abruptly hurling some fellow across the dance floor to the stunned astonishment of all onlookers. Later as Misao was seated in a chair on the edge of the crowd catching her breath and waiting for her partner to bring them both ices, something odd caught her attention and made her head swivel around to a dark corner where Mr. Darcy stood, quiet and a little apart from the others. As Misao watched through the thick, close air, she dimly caught a glimpse of another tall man, discreetly attired in a dark suit, his face hidden in shadows, apparate seemingly out of thin air and slide up to Mr. Darcy. A brief exchange of words happened in the space of a moment, then the second man slipped quietly away, moving silently among the revelers.

Frowning, Misao thought to herself. _That's odd. I wonder who that man was._ She pondered the question for half a second, then rose to her feet, curiosity pressing her forward as she glided carefully among the other dancers, her eyes intent on her quarry who unwittingly led her along the edge of the crowded ballroom. He was quite hard to follow and a few times she almost lost him in the dark corners but determinedly Misao tracked him, picking her way across the room before following him through a half-open door and out into the quiet grand hallway.

Once outside the ballroom, she quickly drew back in the shadows, worrying less a click of one of her heels give her away, her breath catching in her throat as she silently followed the man. It dimly occurred to her that perhaps she was being a tad nosy, but her curiosity had been piqued and she was particularly good at following people without being detected. However, much to her irritation, the man she was trailing moved silently down the dark hallway, then slipped into a small room, closing the door behind him. The sound of a lock clicked, barring her way. Not easily dissuaded, Misao pressed her ear to the door, but the thick oak muffled almost all sound. She tried the door to the next room and discovered that it was not only unlocked but it contained a large bay window that was open to the cool night air. Sticking her head out the window, Misao could very faintly hear the sound of two voices talking. Apparently her quarry had been joined by another man, but the noise of the ball muffled their voices.

Foiled again, Misao twisted her lips in irritation. It wasn't as if she had a particularly pressing need to discover what the men were discussing, but she had grown a trifle weary of dancing and was keen for a different type of entertainment. A spot of espionage seemed in order, if not exactly ladylike at least it promised to be amusingly diverting. But how to get close enough to the men to eavesdrop?

The idea of "eaves" stuck to her mind as Misao looked out the graceful window, examining the framework closely. The window was set in a little alcove tucked back into the building. Leaning forward as far as she could, Misao could not see the other window. If she took it into her head to climb up the side of the building, it was very likely she would escape surveillance from the small party she was intent on accessing undetected.

Thought quickly became deed as Misao stepped out of her dancing slippers and clambered nimbly up the carved window frame, ball dress billowing around her and cursing her corset afresh as her toes sought out footholds. The climb was relatively easy but it wasn't until she reached the roof which jutted out over the two windows and began moving along it that she realized she was no doubt doing irreparable harm to her dress, something that would not fail to escape her mother's attention and earn Misao unending censor.

But, the damage had already been done, so she shrugged her shoulders and crawled across the roof, quick as a squirrel until she was directly overhead the two men and their words lifted quietly but clearly up to her curious ear.

"Our leader has given his orders," the first one said, his deep voice hitting Misao like hail, and she had an uncomfortable feeling that her presence was in danger of being detected. "Sir John Edgington is to be assassinated."

Misao's eyes flew open as she clamped her teeth together to prevent a gasp of shock. _Assassinated_?

"It will be done, Han'nya," the other voice, gruffer and harder responded, but with deference.

"It must be done tonight, Shikijo, and without leaving any tracks," the first man responded.

"Do not worry, Han'nya," the other man said. "When have we failed our leader?"

"Never," the response was quick and decisive. "Go now."

"It shall be done." Then there was silence, both from the men below and from the young woman perched on the roof, confusion and alarm welling up in her. Misao's normally smooth brow wrinkled like cracked earth as she quickly turned this information over and over in her head, innards yammering. While she was not acquainted with everyone at the ball, she had a lurking suspicion that this Sir Edgington was among the attendees and blissfully unaware of the death sentence on his head.

_I've got to find him and warn him!_ Misao thought frantically, but a voice at her ear startled her greatly, nearly sending her tumbling off the roof.

"I beg your pardon, my lady." The voice was liquid silk, elegance and grace embodied, the warm male tones dropping like melted chocolate on her tongue as Misao whirled around, astonished and alarmed at being taken completely off guard and hands grasping fruitlessly for the knives that were not at her belt.

Her eyes fell upon a man crouched elegantly next to her, so close he could have leaned forward and kissed her, raven black hair moving in the wind and sending tendrils floating around a face that defied description. Misao gulped, feeling her breath whooshing out of her as if she had actually fallen off the roof. The man was beautiful. There were no other words to describe him. Somewhere, some long-dead Greek sculptor was churning madly in his grave over the missed opportunity to carve into marble the likeness of the beautiful creature before her. Hazily Misao recalled that in Greek culture, beauty had always been seen as belonging to men, but she hadn't ever realized why.

Until now. And the beautiful man was smiling at her in a way that made her insides twist together as moonlight washed over his milk-pale skin and his elegant fingers swiftly plucked an immaculate handkerchief from the breast pocket of his tailcoat.

"Please excuse me, my lady, but you seem to have a smudge of something on your cheek." Cool, slender fingers moved like dancers as the cloth delicately glided across Misao's face, wiping away the impurity. Smiling gently, the man questioned. "I believe you are Misao Bennet?"

Misao nodded mutely, brain still fuzzed over with emotion, and she was fairly sure that her mouth was hanging open foolishly. Then alarm clanged a warning. He knew her name and knew she was eavesdropping. If he knew what she knew...Warily, Misao eyed him carefully, wondering how easy fending him off was going to be when she was perched on a slanting roof ten feet off the ground while encumbered with a needlessly voluminous ball gown.

Yet the man facing her seemed not at all inclined towards trying his hand at eliminating her. Instead, the gentle smile became even more courtly as he dipped his head elegantly towards her. "Pardon me, but this is a rather precarious perch for a lady. May I take the liberty of assisting you down to the ground safely?"

Alarm streaked through Misao as she realized that even if the man didn't realize she had overhead the assassination mission, there was absolutely no plausible excuse she could give for being caught scurrying across a roof ten feet off the ground while wearing a ballgown. Ladies didn't climb anything higher than a stair step or maybe a saddle. This gorgeous creature, whoever he was, clearly knew her name. If he didn't kill her to keep her quiet, word was going to leak out that Okina Bennet's daughter was making an unseemly fool of herself by climbing walls and scampering across roofs. Then her mother would be the one doing the killing.

The last thought was abruptly extinguished as the elegant man gracefully stood to his feet, Misao's eyes following his frame entirely of their own volition as he unfolded himself to a considerable height. To her shock and bedazzlement, she found herself being carefully lifted in his arms, a gesture which brought her rapidly blushing cheeks up to his beautiful face in a way that was astonishingly seductive yet also scrupulously courtly. Heat raced across her as he smiled again and said in a way that oozed of graciousness with an underlying purr of intimacy, "Please do not be alarmed. I promise I will bring you back to the ground with the most exquisite care."

With that, he promptly jumped off the roof. Misao's heart caught in her throat as she realized he had not merely stepped off but instead had leaped into the air in an enthusiastic spring that lifted them several dozen more feet upwards. At the apex of the jump, she swore they hung in space for several long seconds before descending to earth, Misao biting back the urge to scream loudly and bracing herself for the impact.

Much to her surprise, the man landed as softly as if he had jumped onto a ten foot thick feather bed. There was hardly a jolt as his feet touched the ground. He did not immediately move to set Misao back on her feet, and her blushes were even more furious as he carefully lowered her feet to the ground and helped her stand upright again, every touch making her tremble.

Trying to regain her composure, Misao brushed at her dress, furiously trying to repair some of the damage scrabbling around on a roof had wrecked. The man caught her hand most delicately with his graceful fingers. "Please. Allow me." The handkerchief made several quick passes over her dress and hair and within moments, Misao saw that the damage had been rectified. Although as to how, she wasn't quite sure. She was fairly certain she had torn a hole in her dress and knew that her bun had been falling loose around her head. Yet in a most inexplicable fashion, she was presentable again and thus would likely escape the wrath of her mother and intrusive inquiries of her sisters.

Finished his ministrations, the man bowed deeply, lifting Misao's hand to his lips for a courtly kiss that burned like fire on the back of her hand. "Allow me to present myself. I am Sebastian Michaelis, butler of the Earl Phantomhive."

_Phantomhive_? Misao was not one to pay much attention to high society unless forced, but even she couldn't resist a tiny gasp of surprise. The young earl was well known for both his youth and the vast fortune and company that had been left to his keeping when his parents died in a fire. But even as her frazzled brain kept kicking and sputtering because the butler Sebastian was holding her hand longer than protocol demanded, driving her to blushing distraction, a vanguard of reason shook itself loose and began restoring order to the chaos of her mind. Earl's butler or not, the man had been crouched on the roof with no plausible explanation. Maybe he had been spying on the very same men Misao was overhearing. The possibilities were endless.

But Sebastian was releasing her hand, and Misao could not help but notice that despite his cool fingers, his touch was leaving shivers of fire up and down her arm. "My apologies, my lady, but I must return to my master. It was a very great pleasure to meet you." Putting a hand at his waist, he bowed with exacting courtesy and faultless grace. "But first, I must return these." Misao's discarded slippers were suddenly in the butler's hand. He proffered them to Misao with a smile that shot down through her toes, then disappeared into the shadows.

Several minutes later, Misao found herself back inside the ball room with no clear recollection of what had happened in the interim. Somehow her shoes had ended up back on her feet, but as to how they got there, she had no idea. Inside seemed dreadfully tedious after the excitement and still a little breathless, Misao found herself wanting to sit down but her dazzled mind quickly reverted back to the clandestine conversation, and alarm clanged through her. Whoever this Sir Edgington was, she needed to locate and warn him quickly.

Trying not to look hurried, Misao tactfully wove through the crowd, wondering how she was going to locate the target without stirring up undue alarm or questions as to how she had overheard this information. Fervently wishing her father had attended the ball, Misao began making calm but pointed inquiries among the throng of people. So intent was she on her search that she scarcely noticed her feet had brought her within earshot of Mr. Bingley and the exquisitely disagreeable Mr. Darcy, and the gentlemen were engaged in a conversation that she could easily distinguish.

"Aren't you going to dance, Darcy?" Mr. Bingley was inquiring. "There's too many pretty girls here for you to be sulking around like this."

"No." Mr. Darcy's voice was cold and definite. "You know I don't like dancing unless I am acquainted with my partner. And you know very well that you were dancing with the only presentable woman here."

"Oh, don't be such a crab," Mr. Bingley laughed. "Right behind you is Ms. Misao Bennet. If she's not pretty enough for you, then I don't know who is."

In her peripheral vision, Misao saw Mr. Darcy's cold eyes swing towards her disdainfully, then return to his friend. "I see nothing particularly appealing about her," he replied coldly.

_Jerk_, Misao thought to herself, resisting the urge to stick her tongue out at him. Although she was several feet away from the men, her hearing was excellent and she had clearly caught every word. While the urgency of the situation warranted close attention, Misao could not resist passing by the men and giving them a dazzling smile. Mr. Bingley smiled and bowed courteously, while Mr. Darcy's bow was frozen and stiff. As Misao stepped in front of Mr. Darcy, she dropped her smile and let a brief but furious glare pass over her face which she directed firmly at him, then disappeared into the crowd, determined to track down Sir Edgington and urge him to take evasive measures.

* * *

><p>"Who was that young woman, Sebastian?" a voice echoed from the dark interior of an elegant carriage. Though still childlike, it ringed with command and arrogant confidence.<p>

"A Miss Misao Bennet, if I am not mistake," the butler replied smoothly. "Daughter of Okina Bennet and one of five daughters. No sons."

"Okina Bennet," the earl of Phantomhive repeated. "That name sounds familiar."

"I believe the gentleman regularly engages in, shall we say, acts of discreet information-gathering," Sebastian's smile was grace itself, but there was danger lacing the edges of his lips.

"For whom?" the young lord demanded.

"That I have not quite been able to ascertain, my lord," the butler looked most graciously chagrined and his master frowned slightly, then looked thoughtful.

"This daughter of his," Ciel Phantomhive mused, "She is following in her father's footsteps."

"I believe that is the most plausible explanation for her adventures on the roof, my lord," Sebastian responded. "One does not commonly encounter young ladies who find scaling high buildings a suitable form of amusement."

"Interesting." A velvet gloved finger moved unconsciously towards the brilliant blue ring, stroking its facets thoughtfully. "I wish to meet her, Sebastian," the young lord finally pronounced. "See to it."

The butler smiled, a white-gloved hand rising to his chest as his head dipped deferentially. "Yes, my lord."

* * *

><p>The broken carriage lay upside down, one wheel spinning lazily in the mild wind, the other one lying on its side several feet from the vehicle. Half inside, his upper torso punched through the shattered window, blood oozing across the jagged glass was one Sir John Edgington whose sole mistake had been developing a disagreeable headache after dinner and departing the ball before Misao had found him and warned him of the plot on his life.<p>

In the shadows, a tall figure swathed in a white cloak let the barest trace of a smile pass his lips.

_It is a dangerous game you play, Ciel Phantomhive._

**I can't work or think about this story much because my brain crashes under the stress load of trying to synthesize three universes and sets of characters into one story. Also, so far, I can't stand Yahiko. He just doesn't seem right – arrrggggghhhhh! Well, I have learned that the stories which cause me the most aggravation tend to be the ones that people like the most, so I have high hopes for this one. Cause it is driving me frigging mad.**


	3. A Slightly Indecent Proposal

**Author's note: I have _finished_ an entire story in the time it has taken me to churn out three measly chapters of this one. Rrrgggghhh. Stupid writer's block and my own shirking avoidance of my keyboard. **

Two days later, the comfortable if genteelly shabby household of Okina Bennet exploded into an avalanche of feminine frenzy at mid-morning. Safely ensconced in his study, the master of the house winced as the noise careened his way in the form of one beaming, rapturously ecstatic wife who was pouring out a stream of high-pitched babble that was as incomprehensible as it was enthusiastic. Trailing in her wake were Okon, Ayama, and Suzume, their excited voices only adding to the clamor and causing Mr. Bennet to visibly cringe.

A large, ornate, and rather ostentatious envelope was triumphantly placed in front of Mr. Bennet's wary eyes as the females pounced on him and let loose four different streams of jumbled explanations, shrieks, squeals, and swoons. With experience born out of years of practice, Mr. Bennet patiently disentangled the competing threads of speech until the plain truth was at last conveyed: the missive in question was an invitation from no other person than the young earl of Phantomhive, courteously requesting the presence of the entire Bennet family at a formal ball to be held the following week.

The explanation brought only deafening squeals of delight from the younger Bennet sisters and rapidly escalating excitement. Tsubame and Misao, who had been drawn to their father's study by the noise emanating from its bowels, were considerably more restrained. Tsuabame's face flushed slightly with the thought of perhaps dancing with Mr. Bingley once again, but Misao's mouth tightened in a hard line and her stomach rolled in alarm as the name of their host reached her ears.

_Lord __Phantomhive! _Misao thought with consternation and no small trace of suspicion. Remembering the strange train of events which had culminated in her spending an exciting moment in the arms of the lord's indescribably handsome butler, Misao blushed crimson and cleared her throat several times to hide her embarrassment. But alarm quickly replaced the blushes as other fresh memories rushed to the surface. The death of Sir John Edgington had been quickly bruited about the shire, and friends and neighbors alike sighed over the tragic death of the man, victim to a panicked carriage horse and subsequent accident. But Misao was not easily fooled; a too-convenient overturned carriage was more than just a coincidence after the whispered conversation she had overheard.

Time and time again in the ensuing two days after the ball, Misao had heavily considered approaching her father and baring the whole incident to him. But something held her back: a quiet but indismissible worry that doing so would put her family at risk. Misao had a growing conviction that her nosy scamper across the roof had landed her smack in the middle of something much bigger and darker than she had a right to know about, and whatever it was could easily put everyone in her father's house in danger. After carefully considering the situation, Misao had decided to remain silent and deal with whatever it was on her own two feet.

She was still grasping firmly to that conviction a week later when, back in the damned corset and too-tight shoes and once again being forced to act delicate and dainty when she would very much rather not, Misao found herself along with her mother and sisters in the sumptuous and glamorous ballroom of the Phantomhive manor surrounded by the very best of high society and painfully aware that her lower-ranked family was sticking out like dead mice in a Christmas pudding.

Okina Bennet had abandoned his family, stuck at home with complaints about mild chest pain and fatigue; surveying the glittering throng and the cold looks of disdain being directed towards the Bennet ladies, Misao was convinced that her father was making the whole thing up to get out of the highfaluting event. Not that she blamed him in the slightest. She would have made her excuses about "taking care of Father" and stayed home if she didn't have the deeply-seated conviction that the ostentatious invitation was simply a ruse for the earl of Phantomhive to have a chance to interrogate her for why his butler had found her capering around on a roof overhearing things that were clearly none of her business. Of course, there was a possibility that the invitation had been finagled by a certain Mr. Bingley whose eager attention to Tsubame at last week's ball had not gone unnoticed; perhaps the gentleman in question had enough clout with the lord of Phantomhive to request the presence of the Bennets at an event that was far above their social standing. But Misao felt certain to the soles of her feet that there was something looming and ominous waiting for her somewhere in the expansive halls of the Phantomhive manor, and her keen eyes kept sweeping the room, measuring everyone she saw and taking in every flash of movement and sound.

Unfortunately, a lot of that movement and sound were currently being produced by her close kin. Riko Bennet, ecstatic to the point of raptures at being in the middle of the highest of high society, was making a commotion of herself and Okon, Ayama, and Suzume were little better, the four females cheerfully unaware of how coldly they were being looked down upon by many of the other people in the room. Misao cringed as her mother's brainless babble filled her ears and her sisters' high-pitched tones only added to the pointless chatter. She wasn't easily embarrassed and didn't care much for people who didn't know what end of a knife to throw at an enemy, but Misao couldn't stifle the overwhelming urge to tie her mother up in a quiet corner somewhere until the evening was over, less Riko completely disgrace the entire family.

Luckily Mr. Bingley was in attendance and artfully commandeered the attention of the rapturous matron and four of the five Bennet girls, Misao quietly edging away, intent on putting some distance between herself and the rest of her family less she end up smacking heads together in efforts to shut them all up. As grateful as she was for Mr. Bingley's kind attentiveness, Misao was highly peeved to discover that the insatiably unpleasant Mr. Darcy was in attendance with his friend and, as usual, was standing aloof and disdainful despite the clusters of elegantly-dressed young women eying him with obvious interest. Intent on avoiding any possible contact with the gentleman, Misao glided away and buried herself in the bustling crowd. It was clear from the exquisite gems and fine brocade surrounding her that the people she was currently rubbing elbows with were aristocrats to their boots, and she had little expectation of finding anyone of her acquaintance in the mix of the hoity-toity.

Just as Misao was contemplating slipping away to the library to wile away what was turning out to be an exceedingly boring, not to mention tension-filled evening, the lightest of touches on her elbow caught her attention.

"Ms. Bennet." The voice was honeyed silk, low and intimate in her ear, and the familiarity of it sent shivers up her spine. "Lord Phantomhive would like to speak with you privately for a moment if you would be so kind as to follow me." Misao didn't need to turn her blushing face to know that the butler Sebastian was bending elegantly over her, his presence making her stomach turn somersaults.

As a result, her response was a weak, "Oh! I..." Trailing off, Misao tried to force her buzzing brain into cooperation. Strictly speaking, it went against social protocol for the earl to request a private audience with a young woman without the benefit of a chaperon. It might look bad. But Misao was uncomfortably aware that her mother probably wouldn't care if her second daughter danced around naked in front of the earl while clenching a rose in her teeth if it meant that Riko had a chance of wrangling some high-class husbands for her other four daughters. _Plus, __the __earl __is __only __twelve. __Just __a __child. __Hardly __a __threat __to __my __honor,_ Misao thought to herself, but her feet, independent of thought, were already following Sebastian as the butler slid gracefully through the crowd, bowing and smiling with exacting grace and courtesy.

Misao obediently let Sebastian lead the way and soon found herself in exquisite sitting room facing the young lord himself. As her eyes fell on the earl, something like common sense finally rattled loose and she pulled herself upright, alert and wary. What did the young lord want of her? The sound of the door latching behind her did nothing to reassure Misao, even though she did not hear a lock turning. Determined not to show nervousness, she kept her eyes on her host's face.

Young he was, the boy who sat in the wing-backed chair was examining her with a flat, calculating blue eye that gave away nothing. The other was hidden behind a patch, but if anything the single eye made the direct stare all the more intense and focused.

"Sit down, Ms. Bennet. Sebastian will pour you some tea." His voice was level and steady, unbroken by puberty but even the tones of a boy could not disguise the arrogance and privilege in his voice. It was the speech of someone long accustomed to having his own way in all matters. _No, __not __a __child, _Misao corrected herself silently as a cup of steaming Earl Grey was placed in her palm, but she barely tasted the liquid, so intent was she on the slender boy-man in front of her.

Without preamble, the young earl began. "I'll get to the point: I called you here because you have certain skills that would be useful to me."

Misao forced herself to remain calm. Lifting the tea to her lips, she said, "Which are?"

"Information-gathering," the earl of Phantomhive responded. "I have need of those who are skilled in that area. I believe we could come to a mutually beneficial agreement."

"Information-gathering for what exactly, Lord Phantomhive?" Misao questioned, struggling to keep the growing clamor of warning from clawing its way out of her stomach. Not for the first time, she wished that her father had accompanied her family to the ball.

"Ms. Bennet." The young lord's voice grew harder and a trifle louder. As she watched, his hands clasped together and one finger began thoughtfully stroking an ornate blue ring which flashed on his thumb. "I will tell you this: the Phantomhives have long existed as guard dogs to the crown, protecting those who threatened the royal family. As the last surviving member of the Phantomhive line, this duty has fallen on my shoulders. And I intend to uphold it."

Misao's fingers tightened on the fine bone china teacup, tension rising in her. "And this duty involves...unpleasant tasks, I might expect? Such as a certain _Sir __John __Edgington_?" As soon as the words escaped her lips, Misao knew there was no going back. She'd put her toes on the tightrope over the gaping chasm, and the options were either fall spectacularly or pick her way forwards in a desperate attempt to find stable ground.

Not the slightest trace of surprise flared in the young lord's face. Calmly, he responded, "If need be, then yes."

Putting the teacup down less she crush it in her fingers, Misao responded tightly, "I won't kill for you, Lord Phantomhive."

"I didn't say anything about killing..." the earl responded evenly but his guest wasn't finished.

"I'm also not going to gather information which will lead to the death of someone," Misao spat out tightly, belligerence crowding out a rush of fear. "If you think I'll do your dirty work so that you can murder anyone who might make the royal family look bad, then think again, _my lord_." Setting the cup down with a rattling thump, Misao poised herself to rise quickly to her feet and sweep dramatically out of the room, hoping against hope that the butler wouldn't quietly but determinedly bar her way and force her to quickly think up a new plan of action. _Bad day to forget my kunai, _she growled internally.

Lord Phantomhive's quiet words haulted her. "Even if the death of one man saves the lives of hundreds of others?"

Misao paused, her tense, tight eyes never leaving the young aristocrat's face. After a pause, he provided the explanation her silent eyes demanded. "Sir John Edgington was the owner of one of the most popular brothels in London, the Crimson Rose. It specializes in Oriental women." The earl's lips narrowed and the one exposed eye grew icy. "Virtually all of them were slaves, some sold by their poor families. Other girls were snatched up off the streets back in the East and hauled to the other side of the world. More than one of the girls in the brothel was beaten to death for resisting, so I was told. Plenty more died from drug overdoses or killed themselves."

Misao bit her lip as the earl watched her carefully. Finally, she spoke, "What else?"

"Opium," the boy aristocrat continued matter-of-factually. "Sir John Edgington had a specific suppler who created a form of opium called Black Pearl. It is four times as powerful and addictive as most opium sold on the streets, and it has the added feature of being quite deadly. Most of the girls at the brothel are addicts and they are instructed to press the drug on their clients. One way they do this is by rubbing their skin and lips with Black Pearl – contact with their customers passes the drug along and forms new addicts." A hard, humorless snort escaped his lips. "Needless to say, the Crimson Rose is rarely without customers."

Carelessly tossing a file of paper at her, the earl said, "Read about it in here if you don't believe me."

Misao didn't budge an inch, her eyes barely leaving his face. "I believe you, my lord," she said softly. After a moment, she forced her voice to question evenly, "What is the connection with the crown?"

Settling back a little in his chair, Lord Phantomhive crossed his hands thoughtfully, "The Crimson Rose is quite popular and certain members of the aristocracy frequent it." Carelessly picking up a teacup, the boy lord stated calmly. "Three weeks ago, the queen's favorite nephew was found dead in the streets, a trail of evidence leading back to the Crimson Rose."

Misao digested this for a moment, then responded tightly. "So you had Sir John Edgington killed in revenge?"

Not a muscle twitched on the young lord's face but his voice grew icier, "When it was his own hand which killed the royal and he was plotting blackmail against the royal family? I don't call that simple revenge." Setting the cup back down, Lord Phantomhive lifted his piercing blue eye to meet Misao's narrowed ones. "It is my duty as guard dog to the crown to protect it from danger. It's not an easy task nor pretty one, but I will not shrink from it."

Silence fell over the room for a long, heavy moment as Sebastian glided forward silently to gracefully proffer sweets. Misao shook her head, her stomach churning too rapidly to consider eating. A fresh cup of tea was poured for her, and she lifted it numbly to her lips.

Lord Phantomhive spoke again. "To be blunt, Ms. Bennet, I know your family is struggling financially, especially with five dowries to provide for. Your father is not the best of business men, and his estate is diminishing yearly because of how he handles his investments. That I can change, in exchange for your assistance."

"You mean you'll pay me to spy for you," Misao stated flatly.

His response surprised her. "No, not exactly." The ring was rubbed again."If I simply give you money, your father will want to know where it came from. Instead, I can arrange for his investments and business ventures to be far more profitable than he expects, and there will be no connection with Phantomhive manor. He will not suspect your hand in it."

Misao's lips closed together as her mind churned furiously behind her blue eyes. Every muscle rigid, she thought, weighing her options carefully. Refusal or negotiations would have to be conducted carefully – the young lord had plenty of power over her and she was well aware that he would likely turn it against her to get what he wanted. She was acutely cognizant that she had just walked into something gigantic and much more deeply intertwined that she suspected; Misao felt as if she was standing at the edge of a deep and forbidden forest, hoping that she couuld force her way through to the other side but painfully aware that many large, hungry things were lurking in wait for her, just itching for one false step to trip her up.

But there was a certain zest of adventure shimmering in Misao's bones as she sat perched on the edge of her seat, her eyes still fastened on the young lord's face. What he was offering was certainly much more interesting than learning how to properly serve tea or sitting through yet another deathly boring dinner party. Misao had long chafed at the restrictions placed on her by society and her gender and there were times she felt she would run mad if she had to endure the shackles another moment. Her father's training had been her sanity, and here at last was a chance to put her well-honed skills to use.

Not to mention that doing so would secure the future of her family. As much as she loved her sisters, Misao knew in her heart that Okon, Ayama, and Suzume were brainless, talentless girls with little education, even less money, and few chances of attaining the types of marriages their mother fervently hoped for. Tsubame with her lovely manners and face stood a far better chance of a smart match, but her scanty dowry was a burden dragging down her future prospects. What the young lord was offering Misao would very well save her family from their rapid decline from genteel poverty into true poverty.

Finally, Misao responded carefully. "Will you let me consider this?"

He gave a slight nod. "Yes. But make your decision quickly." Sensing that the interview was finished and wanting to go some place to mull everything over, Misao stood to her feet and inclined her head gracefully. Against protocol, the young earl stayed seated and barely gave her a nod in acknowledgment, his one exposed eye calculating and calm. Frowning slightly, Misao recognized the lack of courtesy but said nothing. Wealth and privilege covers a multitude of social sins, and it was oddly interesting to be treated with abrupt curtness when she was accustomed to the exaggerated courtesy and gallantry demanded of men by custom. It was rather refreshing in an odd way.

Sebastian more than made up for his master's gracelessness by elegantly escorting Misao back to ballroom, the merest brush of his fingertips against her clothing sending trails of electricity racing up and down her entire nervous system. Blushing, her pulse racing in her throat, and her head full to bursting with new information, Misao found herself back in the crowded ballroom where the dance was in full swing and the air filled with music and voices.

So distracted was she by what had just transpired that it took awhile for Misao to register that she was quite close to her mother, Riko's excited voice cutting through the air. "...and so attentive! We'll have a wedding in four months, if I am not very much mistaken! The darling Mr. Bingley, I couldn't ask for a better man to marry my beloved Tsubame..."

Against her better judgment, Misao snuck a peek in the direction of her mother and discovered that the lady in question was so busy babbling at a thousand words a minute that it completely escaped her that her conversation partner, a gloriously-appointed middle-aged aristocratic woman with enough feathers in her hair to stuff a pillow, was giving Riko a regally imperial look of disdain before she finally removed herself from the situation, leaving Misao's mother to carry on a one-sided conversation with a potted plant, her face falling slightly.

Feeling a rush of empathy, Misao stepped forward to give her mother someone with whom to direct her excess eloquence to, but a sudden movement caught her attention as another lady, who appeared to have consumed a little more wine than proper, staggered slightly and send a crystal wine glass flying through the air. Fearing it would shatter and harm someone, Misao surged forward and snatched it in the middle of its flight.

A large, surprisingly warm hand closed over hers the second her fingers touched the glass. Startled, Misao whipped her head around and saw to her astonishment that the hand belonged to no other than the irremediably disagreeable Mr. Darcy who was currently towering over her, his normally hard look softened a fraction into something that she could not quite read.

To Misao's annoyance, a flush of warmth crept over her, despite her displeasure at being in personal contact with the gentleman. "Mr. Darcy, I believe," she said coldly. They had not been formally introduced, but Misao wasn't exactly counting down the seconds until they were.

"Ms. Bennet," he responded and the ice in his voice was noticeable less glacial. His blue eyes, normally scorching in their cold disdain, were gazing at her and she saw something in them that flickered strangely. He was still holding her hand, and the warmth from his fingers made her pulse thump in a most unruly manner. Covering up her discomfort, Misao quickly disentangled her hand from his and stepped back, drawing herself up firmly. She hadn't forgotten his overheard insult and wasn't particularly keen on being on friendly terms.

To her surprise, Mr. Darcy said quietly, "I believe your older sister has captured the goodwill of my friend Mr. Bingley. He speaks quite highly of her."

"As well as he should," Misao responded proudly. "My sister is an excellent woman of fine character. And if you will excuse me, Mr. Darcy, I should return this glass to its rightful owner." With a swoosh of her admittedly well-worn skirts, Misao swooped off into the crowd, back straight and head held high.

* * *

><p><em>Strange. <em>_I __didn't __realize __her __eyes __were __so __striking_, Aoshi Darcy thought to himself as he watched Ms. Bennet's small, lithe frame glide away. He hadn't thought much of her appearance at first glance but now that he had a second exposure, there was a certain luster to those deep blue orbs that was really quite stunning now that he had gotten time to examine them properly. And then there was the coronet of shining black hair arranged in a thick braid coiled around her head. Not to mention the quick reflexes; she had darted like a kingfisher after the glass and he had been astonished with her reactions.

_A __rather __remarkable __young __woman, _Aoshi thought to himself. _Pity __she __is __hampered __by __a __family __with __little __class __or __taste, __particularly __her __mother, _he sighed as Riko's shrieking laugh pierced through the noise of the room.

Wincing slightly, Aoshi turned from the sound, then frowned as a ripple of energy moved his way. He did not need to look up to know that Sebastian was approaching.

Duty called.

* * *

><p>Ayama yawned loudly and drooped her head against Misao's shoulder. Okon was already asleep against Misao's other shoulder, and on the other side of the carriage, Tsubame was leaning against Riko, the matron fondly stroking her eldest daughter's hand and mercifully silence. The night was inching towards morning, and the family carriage was rattling across the road towards home, its passengers exhausted but happy. However, as late as it was, Misao's brain was too consumed with pondering the earl's offer to let herself give in to dozing. Her nerves felt as tightly strung as a harpsichord and a dull headache was poking the back of her skull. And then there was the curious matter of Mr. Darcy who, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary, was apparently capable of acting with tolerable courtesy at times; Misao flushed at the remembrance of his warm, large palm against the back of her hand.<p>

Trying to force the remembered sensation from her mind, Misao breathed a silent word of thanks that her mother hadn't seen the brief exchange. If Riko had spotted it, she would undoubtedly be mentally picking out flower arrangements for Misao's marriage to the abundantly wealthy gentleman as she had been doing the past several days for Tsubame. However, in the case of the eldest Bennet daughter, it seemed entirely plausible that a potential wedding was on the horizon: Mr. Bingley had been extremely attentive to Tsubame the entire evening and even a casual glance at the couple gave ample evidence to their mutual attraction and respect.

Across from Misao, Tsubame was smiling gently to herself, and Misao grinned back. She was particularly fond of her elder sister and was glad she had captured the attention of such a wealthy and kind gentleman. Once they had all had a chance to sleep, Misao had full intention of subjecting her sister to a thorough interrogation to ferret out all that Mr. Bingley had said to Tsubame while Misao had been hearing a lot more than she wanted to know in Lord Phantomhive's sitting room.

The first blush of dawn was beginning to seep inside the carriage as it clattered up the drive towards the house. Misao looked out the window with a yawn and was surprised to see one of their servants racing towards the carriage, her skirts billowing around her feet.

"Mrs. Bennet, Mrs. Bennet, ma'am!" the servant cried out loudly, grasping the edge of the open carriage window in tight-knuckled fingers. "Come quickly! There's been a terrible accident!"

**So I think the Muse has deemed to visit me again. After working on this chapter, I am much more enthusiastic about this story and excited to see where my mad author ramblings lead me. Hope you all like it!**


	4. No Turning Back Now

**Author's note: The heat's on! More excitement in this chapter with plenty more coming up! **

Fire crackled quietly in the massive fireplace as a small figure, rather elaborately dressed in blue and black, sat poised and silent in the wing back chair occupying the room, light from the flames dancing across his face and throwing eerie shadows around the room. Behind his back, a window silently slid open, skillful fingers artfully manipulating the glass in its track so that not the slightest of noises disturbed the still quiet of the room. A slender, black-clad frame slipped soundlessly into the room, feet as light as the beat of a moth's wings and intent on the chair's occupant. Like a wisp of smoke, the intruder crept closer, eyes glittering like the knives stowed away inside the black clothing. Every muscle coiled, the advancing invader moved forward, each movement liquid and sure, the intent eyes never leaving the back of the chair.

"Good evening, Ms. Bennet," the person seated in the chair pronounced, not a trace of surprise in his voice.

The other figure did not twitch a muscle. "Good evening, my lord," she responded, keeping her voice as level and even as his.

"You nearly slipped past Sebastian's eye, you know," the boy lord stated flatly as Misao stepped across the room to look him in the face. "Not many people can do that. He barely had time to warn me you were coming."

"My deepest apologies, my lord," a voice rang out in the darkness, its familiar tones making Misao shiver as the butler in question stepped out from the shadows, his beautiful smile touched with graceful penitence. "Ms. Bennet is an extraordinarily skillful young woman. But that does not excuse my own lack of watchfulness."

"Just make sure it doesn't happen again," the young earl rapped out, disapproval lining his words as the butler dipped his upper frame in a repentant bow. But the lord of Phantomhive had already transferred his attention to the young woman facing him.

"You've made your decision, then." It wasn't a question and therefore Misao didn't bother giving him an answer.

"You heard news of my father," she responded, also not framing it as a question. The aristocrat nodded a sharp affirmative.

"Yes." The piercing blue eye bored into her intently. "I assume this had a hand in your decision."

Misao returned the look with equal focus. So much had passed in the two days since her family had attended the Phantomhive ball that her head spun with trying to keep it all lined up neatly inside her cranium. Her life, already in severe turmoil from the earl's offer, had been completely upended the moment her family's frantic servant had raced up to the carriage babbling out something about an accident. Rushing to the house, Misao had spotted the well-known carriage of Mr. Edgar Worthington, the local physician, and the sight of it had lent her feet wings and sent the rest of the Bennet women crying out in fear and sick dread.

Massive amounts of chaos later had speedily uncovered the event: late that night, Okina Bennet had apparently succumbed to a heart attack in his study and in the process had fallen and struck his head heavily on his desk. This had happened after the servants had retired, and the master of the house had spent several hours lying prone in his own blood until a very early rising servant had discovered him and alerted the household.

Recalling the fresh memories, Misao tried to bite back the taste of bile in her throat as grief raged through her soul down to her bones. Her father was at home comatose in bed and his prognosis was entirely uncertain. The doctor had warned them gently that Okina had likely suffered significant brain injury in his fall and if he recovered physically from the heart attack, there was no guarantee that he would regain full use of his mental facilities.

Amidst the grief and shock of the event and with a houseful of sobbing women surrounding her, Misao had quickly come to the inevitable realization that because of her father's current condition, the only way the family would avoid utter financial ruin was if she accepted the earl's offer, which was why she was standing in his study this very moment, dry-eyed and resolute. No other path had opened up to her, so she had set her feet on this one, determined to accept what fate had thrown at her so that she could protect her family from hardship.

With a humorless twist of her lips, Misao realized that her father's accident was likely the only thing shielding her new endeavor from discovery; she had know that she would have been hard-pressed to take up the young lord's offer without her father eventually discovering what she was up to. Little escaped his eyes, and attempting subterfuge on the person who had taught her the meaning of the word was doomed to be a fruitless endeavor. Now, Misao smiled thinly, it didn't matter: Okina was not aware of anything at all going on around him, a condition that very well may remain permanent.

Sebastian moved forward, ever efficient as always, and Misao found herself being gently ushered into a chair and a cup of tea placed in her cold hands. Barely registering the hot liquid as it slid down her throat, she kept her eyes firmly on Phantomhive's youthful master. Staring at him with calculating, intent eyes, Misao looked beyond his commanding presence and the one blue eye, sharp and perceptive as a battle-hardened general, and realized for the first time how truly young he was, several years her junior. Yet the blue eye that met hers coolly bore not the slightest trace of the carefree, naive expression that was common for those not yet in their teens. There was nothing of a child left in the person facing her, of that she was certain.

His next words confirmed her assessment. "I trust that our agreement still stands."

"No," Misao shook her head. "Assisting my father's investments will do my family little good now that he is incapacitated. I don't know much about our family's finances, and I don't have time to learn since you have work for me to do. Instead, my price is a dowry of a thousand pounds for each of my sisters and five thousand for Tsubame. That's what I want in exchange for my loyalty," Misao demanded boldly. "And none of it connected to the Phantomhive manor or traced back to me." Such a settlement would assure that Misao would see her sisters comfortably settled in decent marriages with husbands to care for them. Her asking price for Tsubame was high, but her sister deserved every penny and far more beyond that.

The earl paused, teacup suspended in front of his face and the merest trace of a frown on his lips. "That's a rather tall order," he stated coldly.

"Surely the guard dog of the queen can arrange something suitable," Misao glared back at her new (for lack of better words) employer who returned her stare with a cold expression that mirrored her fiery one. She knew she was asking for a lot but even the slightest glance around the Phantomhive manor made it abundantly clear that eight thousand pounds was about enough to cover the estate's annual sugar cube inventory. She wasn't quite sure how the young lord was going to pull off making four unexpected dowries apparate out of thin air into the Bennet household without any probing questions being asked, but if the butler Sebastian was anything to go on, the Phantomhive earl had a most interesting collection of useful resources at his disposal. He'd manage something.

After giving Misao another calculating frown, the young master nodded almost imperceptibly. "Agreed. But, I will say this, Misao," She jerked just slightly at the sound of her Christian name but decided that courtesy was henceforth going to take a backseat to business when the earl was concerned. In a way, she appreciated his bluntness; it was refreshing to cut through all the social nuances and get right to the heart of the matter, and even more so to be treated as a competent human being with a brain and useful skills, not as some delicate, helpless flower in need of protection.

He continued, "The tasks I have for you will not be easy nor safe. But I will promise you this," the lord of Phantomhive lowered his voice a trifle as something approaching kindness rolled in his tones. "I will not renege on my agreement and I will protect you to the best of my abilities as long as you fulfill your duties."

"I'm not afraid," Misao said firmly. "I just want to know that my family will be provided for should something happen to me."

"You have my word," he said with finality, almost as if he was irritated she would question his sincerity, and Misao felt a trickle of reassurance well up inside her troubled spirit. Not that there was much comfort to be found in this situation, but with her life upended around her ears, she was clinging eagerly to anything that resembled security.

Silence settled over them for a moment, then the master of Phantomhive spoke again. "You did not arrange for your own dowry," he commented, a hint of curiosity in his flat tones.

Misao shrugged. "I doubt I will ever marry. I have my duties to you and most men don't consider knife-throwing skills to be a feature they look for in a potential wife, my lord."

"You might be surprised," he responded curiously, ignoring Sebastian as the butler stepped forward gracefully to retrieve his master's discarded teacup. "Some men have...unconventional tastes. Still," the calculating look slid back into place. "If you prove useful to me, I will have continual work for you. And, in the event..." something like cold flames suddenly roared to life in his exposed eye as the blue iris momentarily blazed topaz, almost translucent, and the thick eyelashes blinked closed for one long moment, then opened again, revealing nothing but flat calmness once again.

"...in the event certain goals of mine come to pass, I will have no further need of your services. But if you are as clever as I suspect you are, there are others who would be happy to put your skills to use. I do not think you will have trouble supporting yourself should your father die and you be left to provide for your family."

Misao swallowed hard at the thought of her beloved father dying, and she had to bit her lip furiously to keep her composure. The earl had a brusk, rather abrasive manner that ground against her already abraded emotions, and she had a looming premonition that he would prove to be a demanding employer. _Employer_! she thought to herself with a shock. Women of Misao's station didn't work, it simply was not done.

_Then __again_, she thought to herself with a grim smile, _Women __of __my __station __don't __scamper __around __on __rooftops __breaking __into __houses. __I __suppose __a __proper __lady __would __marry __herself __off __to __the __next __suitable __young __man __that __came __along __or __let __herself __descend __into __poverty __before __she __would __take __up __employment, __especially __this __particular __type __of __work. __Luckily, __I'm __a __lot __less __persnickety __and __I __have __no __intention __of __starving __to __death._

She didn't have much time for inner musing for the lord pulled himself together with a decided air and said, "You will receive your first orders soon. Sebastian will bring them to you." Sensing that she was being dismissed, Misao nodded and stood to her feet, inclining her head slightly. Looking her over, her new employer pulled back his lips in a faint smile that had no humor. "You are free to use the front door to leave. It's growing cold, and I'd rather the window stay shut."

Misao nodded again and automatically fell besides Sebastian who escorted her graciously through the elegant manor and out the front door. Normally, she would have been somewhat flustered at being in the butler's handsome, soul-stirring presence again, but Misao's brain was too full of thoughts to pay much attention to his sculpted face and feline gracefulness. At the door, Sebastian bowed deeply, then a slight frown fluttered beautifully across his exquisite features. "Shall I call the carriage for you, Ms. Bennet? It is late and there are dangers..."

"Sebastian, you know far better than I do what the earl wants of me, and I have no doubt that it's going to be dangerous," Misao interrupted coldly. "I think I can handle walking home by myself. Besides," she turned to leave, calling over her shoulder, "What do I tell my parents if I roll up to the house in the Phantomhive carriage?" Secretly, she added in her head. _My __mother __would __be __thrilled __beyond __belief. __Young __as __the __Phantomhive __master __is, __Mother __would __marry __me __off __to __him __in __a __second._

Without a second look at the butler, Misao slipped away into the darkness, leaving him behind, a ruby hue gleaming in his eyes and a smile that slide across his face like a winding snake.

* * *

><p>Blood dripped off the twin blades, falling in a gentle pattern on the dirty cobblestones as the tall, white cloaked figure bore down heavily on the cowering, terror-filled man crouching against the brick wall, one hand reaching out in fruitless attempt to stay his assailant's hand.<p>

Four bodies lay in a river of crimson, blood oozing along the cobblestones and mixing with the drops of rain that were beginning to fall down on the deserted street. As the man in white stepped forward, his foot crunched down heavily and purposefully on a Colt Patterson revolver, the barrel sheared off at a perfect angle as it lay useless on the damp stones. Three other weapons lay in severed pieces around the four bodies, all containing five bullets each in their chambers. The revolvers had barely left their holsters before the whirling steel blades had rendered them all useless in one lightening-fast strike.

The man in the white cloak spoke, each word as sharp as the _kodachi_ poised in his fingers, both lowered to a ready position and waiting for the slightest movement from their master to cleave flesh asunder again. "There were five of you against me," his voice echoed in the dank alley. "That was exceedingly foolish of you. With those odds, how could you have expected to defeat me?"

"Please! Please, Sir, don't...don't kill me!" the other man whimpered, and Aoshi sniffed in disdain at the tears which were beginning to run down his would-be attacker's face.

Ignoring the man's pleas, Aoshi lifted the tip of one blade until it was nearly resting on the man's forehead. He shivered with terror but his frightened eyes were locked on Aoshi and he seemed unable to move or pull his eyes away from the gaze that froze him in place. "Tell me what you know and I will let you live," Aoshi pronounced coldly. "Who sent you?"

"I don't know his name!" the man yelped. "Gentleman fellow, brown hair, glasses. Opium dealer, I think, some high-rolling business man!" Aoshi's eyes narrowed and the man gulped loudly, sweat pouring down his face. "He said you were disrupting business, that he did, Sir! Promised us a king's ransom to take you out! That's all I know, I swear to God!"

_Takeda __Kanryū. __I __should __have __suspected,_ Aoshi thought quickly, then glowered sharply at the man cowering at his feet. He was reasonably convinced that the idiot was telling the truth, and further interrogation would only result in the man wetting himself in fear. With a flick of his blades to clear them of blood, Aoshi sheathed the kodachi and swept his cloak around him, turning to disappear into the shadows.

With blinding speed, the kodachi left their sheath again as a fountain of blood arched across the filthy brick wall. A head, wide-eyed with shock, went bouncing and rolling across the cobblestones as Aoshi stood frozen, kodachi gleaming in the faint moonlight and something dark and angry burning in his eyes.

"I would have let you live," he rumbled darkly as he flicked the fresh blood from his blades a second time and returned them to their sheath. "_Fool,__" _he pronounced before disappearing into the shadows.

Within moments, there was silence, a light drizzle falling upon the bleeding corpse, one hand still reaching for the concealed revolver inside its clothing.

_Too slow._

* * *

><p>On the rooftop, looking down at the carnage below, a tall, elegant figure stood poised and sure-footed, ruby eyes gleaming in the pale moonlight as raindrops fell upon an immaculately tailored suit and midnight-black hair elegantly disheveled around the marble complexion. His lips were arched in a slight smile as he watched the man in white fade away into the darkness. Abruptly the silence was broken by a high-pitched squeal.<p>

"Oh, _darling_ Aoshi, why must you continually deny me?" With a sweep of red, a flamboyant and exceedingly loud person exploded into view, jagged teeth set in a smile, thick auburn locks and a heavy eyeglass chain swinging with his every movement, and a chainsaw perched on his shoulder. Clasping his hands dramatically against his chest, he swooned, "Come back my dark avenger, my knight in a white cloak, my own, dear, beloved _Aoshi_!" Squealing in delight, this singularly odd individual twirled around lightly on the roof, sending the teeth of the chainsaw chattering in agitation as he tripped skillfully across the roof tiles.

Sebastian sighed elegantly. "I do ask that you desist with such nonsense, Grell. I can assure you that Aoshi Darcy hasn't the slightest interest in your dubious charms."

"But my most beloved Sebastian, since you drive me away with words sharper than this chainsaw of mine, what must I do but seek comfort in the arms of another? Oh, _Aoshi_! Return to me, darling man, that I may look upon your divine face one again!" The Grim Reaper capered nimbly across the tiles of the roof to the very edge, gazing into the darkness as the last glimpse of Aoshi's coat disappeared from view.

"My swordsman of steel, my raven with iron talons, my dark creature of the night, Aoshi my love! A second is a thousand years when we are apart! But!" the crazed eyes flashed in the wan moonlight as delight danced across his face. "You have left me work to do! Oh you darling boy, I could kiss you a hundred times for it!" With that, the Reaper sprung lightly down from the roof, chainsaw at ready and high-pitched laughter filling the damp air.

Sebastian sighed elegantly, one white-gloved finger artfully brushing back a stray lock of hair from his eyes as he watched the Reaper set gleefully to work.

_I am done here. My master bids me return to him. _

The roof was suddenly empty as rain began falling in earnest.

**Author's note: Grell's character is so hilarious, he had to make a cameo. He may end up showing up in later chapters; I haven't quite decided if he will. **


	5. His Butler: Harlequin

**Author's note: Here is another fine and frisky chapter! This is turning out to be quite a fun story to write. I love weaving three separate universes and sets of characters together. Please read and review - nothing makes me more gleeful than a batch of reviews**!

The first round of marching orders from the Phantomhive manor were slower to appear than Misao had anticipated, but with an ailing father, there was plenty with which to occupy her time. As the days passed, Okina slipped in and out of consciousness, a few times showing a glimmer of lucidity that had the Bennet family hopeful he would eventually stage a complete recovery, but these moments were rare and the household was still holding its collective breath. Riko was besides herself with incessant worry manifested as a ceaseless stream of endlessly looping words, and her three younger daughters were little better. Graceful Tsubame kept many of her concerns to herself, preferring to expend her energy trying to bring some comfort to her mother and sisters, and Misao's mind was constantly divided between worrying over her family and trying to mentally gear herself up for whatever it was the earl had for her to do.

Amidst all the turmoil, Yahiko Bingley kept appearing at the front door like some life preserver in the middle of a sea storm. His cheerful daily visits were much appreciated by everyone in the house, particularly since he insisted Okina be treated by his own physician and kept the house overstuffed with flower baskets, shoulders of mutton, and chocolates to soothe the emotions of the troubled Bennet females.

Misao was grateful for the gifts and happy to see that Mr. Bingley's feet had this uncanny ability to scoot him over to Tsubame's side as if drawn there magnetically. Despite the family's worry over the master of the house, Mr. Bingley had an uncanny ability to bring laughter and cheer with his visits, and his particular attentions to Tsubame were transparently obvious. Daily it seemed more certain that whenever Okina managed to recover and give his blessing to the enraptured couple, a wedding would be immanent. Riko's one comfort in the middle of stress over her husband's condition was planning her eldest daughter's nuptials, and seeing how happy it made her, Misao didn't have the heart to try to encourage her mother to tone down her enthusiasm until Mr. Bingley had formally requested Tsubame's hand.

Unfortunately, the daily appearance of Mr. Bingley was often shadowed by the presence of Mr. Darcy who had shown up with his friend for the first visit, his arms full of an overly fussy floral arrangement that he was holding with marked distaste as if it might drip pollen over his immaculate cravat at any minute and traces of a frown across his icy features. However, despite all evidence to the contrary, Mr. Darcy was apparently capable of some measures of courtesy when pressed, for during that visit he addressed their mother with respectful tones and inquired after their father's health with what seemed like genuine concern. In the days that followed, Mr. Darcy trailed along with Mr. Bingley for most of his visits, a fact that did not exactly fill Misao with glee, but she was grudgingly thankful that he too was providing aide and succor to the family.

The gentlemen were often attended by Mr. Bingley's sister, Yumi Bingley, and it was quite apparent that the high-class gentlewoman had her eye fixed firmly on Mr. Darcy. Misao often had a private laugh over Ms. Bingley's transparent campaigns to capture Mr. Darcy's attention because they were obvious wholly ineffective. Less amusing to Misao was the dawning awareness that Mr. Darcy's eye had a growing habit of affixing itself on her; she quite often lifted her head to the gentleman to discover that he was peering at her in a way that made her brow quirk in puzzlement. As the visits continued, Mr. Darcy kept directing his conversations and attentions at Misao in a manner that made her worried that Riko would notice and make unwarranted conclusions. Still not having forgotten nor forgiven his slight at the ball, Misao wasn't particularly thrilled about the unexpected and unwanted attention Mr. Darcy was floating her way but seeing as the gentleman was offering his support and condolences to her family and giving much-needed encouragement, she let the strange attentiveness pass without comment.

A week passed, and then two, and Okina was waking up to consciousness with increasing frequency, but amidst all the chaos, Misao's bargain with the earl of Phantomhive had not escaped her mind for more than a few minutes; it was always hovering in the air, and she found herself on constant agitated anticipation, waiting for his orders. One evening as the Bennet household was beginning to wind down for the night and the matron of the house was absorbed with tending her husband, Misao felt an overwhelming desire to stretch her limbs outside and get away from the constant trill of female tongues. The night air was cool and pleasant, beckoning in its quiet silence, and she was feeling agitated with stress and family concerns.

Slipping silently through the house, Misao moved out into the darkness like a white ghost gliding along the dark grass. A sliver of moon was shining wanly down on the countryside, and all was dark and funeral, befitting her mood. As Misao moved towards the dark expanse of trees on the edge of the front lawn, something pricked at her senses, sending the hairs on the back of her arm agitating with alertness. Her small frame drew up, primal consciousness reaching outward as a thin line etched itself across her mouth.

"Sebastian," Misao said with dull certainty. Two dots of glowing red emerged from the looming dark as the man himself stepped forward, exquisitely attired in a faultless tailcoat as always and a courtly smile on his face. This time, Misao's pulse didn't start thumping, even as he gracefully picked up her hand and lifted it to his lips, the heat of his fingers palpable through his thin white gloves. She knew that this visit was all business and likely unpleasant business to boot.

"You may dispense with the formalities, Sebastian," she ordered coldly as the butler's elegant fingers held hers in a light grip that nevertheless hinted of the crushing power they could release. He let her pull her hand away as the smile never left his face. Giving him a hard look, Misao asked, "Orders at last?"

The tall butler bowed precisely, his words gliding like ice skaters across a frozen pond. "My lady is requested to attend a ball in three days. There is a certain gentleman who will be in attendance, a Takeda Kanryū..."

"And you want me to spy on him?" Misao interrupted flatly.

Sebastian dipped his head again. "You effortlessly grasp onto the situation, Ms. Bennet."

Misao's shoulders stiffened. "Fine. Where is the ball?"

A long, slender finger lifted to Sebastian's white cheek as he peered at her a moment, the smile like a snake deepening.

* * *

><p><em>What <em>_on __earth __have __I __gotten __myself __into?_ Misao thought for the hundredth time as she tugged her voluminous skirts out of the way of a passing dancer. The sumptuous satin gown was black as sin, rivers of ink-dark fabric cascading around her small frame and cinched cruelly in at the bodice, compressing her already slender waist into practically nothing. The neckline was outrageously low, making Misao blush furiously behind the elaborate gold and black mask that obscured almost all of her facial features. Her thick hair was caught up in a complicated swirl of braids and waving black plumes, with bands of gold fabric weaving in and out of her dark strands. Although Sebastian had assured her that she looked splendid (her elaborate attire was partly his handiwork), Misao had a looming suspicion that she was a few inches of exposed cleavage shy of looking like a high-class courtesan.

Then again, considering the surroundings she was currently embedded in, Misao knew that she didn't look a bit out of place. Around her, elaborately masked dancers whirled and dipped in wild pantomimes of dances, the women clad in brightly-colored gowns with plenty of skin exposed for all to see. Hands were wandering in places that hands shouldn't go in polite company, the thick air was full of a sticky sweet smell that drifted like clouds, and alcohol was flowing freely.

And here she was, Misao Bennet, daughter of a gentleman, right in the thick of it. Misao frowned deeply, then winced as a jolt of pain, courtesy of her overly-tight corset, shot up her side. She felt practically naked with the low neckline and, in the middle of the crazy atmosphere, was painfully aware of how incapacitated she was. Fighting off an overly-amorous suitor was going to be a lot harder hampered with these ridiculous skirts and the gilded black mask heavily festooned with feathers which partially obscured her vision.

Most unfortunately, attaining an overly-amorous suitor was basically the reason Misao was there, and her target was several paces ahead of her, the half mask on his face partially covered by the straight brown bangs falling over it. Recognizing him from the detailed physical description the earl had provided, Misao bit her lip firmly. _Let's __go,_ she thought to herself, her skin crawling in alarm as her shoulders drew up in resolution.

Takeda Kanryū was standing in a cluster of half-dressed beauties, their high-pitched laughter amplified by the champagne glasses in their hands; from the looks of things, the glasses had held quite a bit of alcohol that evening with more forthcoming. Misao felt a bead of sweat break out on her forehead as a tiny voice yammered in her head. _What __are __you __fooling __yourself __with, __Misao? __You __don't __have __the __slightest __clue __how __to __intrigue __a __man, __and __those __women __he __is __with __clearly __know __a l__ot __more __than __you __do..._

_Shut __up, _Misao ordered herself silently. _Remember, __you __don't __have __a __lot __of __choice __in __the __manner. __Remember __your __family. _With that thought, Misao forced herself to glide forward, hoping against hope that her movements signaled an alluring "Come hither" to the gentleman in question. Keeping her fan clutched in her cold fingers, Misao sailed gracefully past her quarry, close enough for him to smell the expensive French perfume Sebastian had insisted she wear. As her narrowed eyes observed through the slits in her mask, Misao saw Kanryū turn towards her and an expression of interest cross the unobscured part of his face.

_Now_. With a quick flick of her left wrist, Misao flared her fan open and lifted it up to his view, pausing for a moment as she let him see the accessory and the message it portrayed, then began slipping away into the crowd. With a wry smile behind her mask, Misao thought about how she had always sniffed at the ridiculous language of fans most gentlewomen were so crazy about; the fact that fluttering and snapping a simple accessory for cooling oneself could signal declarations of love, hate, interest, or other such messages had never ceased to puzzle her. But in the crazed masquerade of the dance floor, Misao was suddenly deeply grateful that her mother had drilled her in these messages and realized for the first time that fan language was simply another means of spying, a subtle communication skill to be put to use. At this point, Misao needed every tool she had at her disposal and if a handful of sticks and a painted silk screen were helpful, she had every intention of utilizing them.

As Misao gracefully danced past Kanryū, she tilted her head slightly to the right and saw that he was following her, a purposeful set to his footsteps. Smiling in triumph, Misao glided her way through the crowd, letting herself slip in and out of view just enough to give the man a sense he was hunting her. Sebastian had told her that men like a little mystery, a bit of the chase, so Misao let Kanryū stalk her for a minute or two before he rounded a corner, a definite gleam in his eye showing from under his mask, to find Misao elegantly posed on a divan, her left hand holding her open fan in front of her face to cover everything below her eyes.

"There you are, my lady of mystery!" Kanryū announced. His voice was higher than she expected and light with mirth. It would have been a pleasant voice if she hadn't known so much about the man producing it. The top opium supplier in the country and a ruthless business man, Takeda Kanryū was not a man to be trifled with. He let nothing stand in the way of what he wanted, and from the looks of it, Misao was what he wanted right now. Clearly, it was going to take some delicate finagling and a lot of fast-thinking on Misao's part to ensure that she got the information she needed without her virtue suffering irreparable harm. Misao was confident that she could keep Kanryū from getting too frisky, but teasing out the information she wanted from him without drawing suspicion was going to take all of her brains and she suspected, no small amount of sheer luck. Simply kicking him in the stomach might protect her reputation but would do absolutely nothing to aide her mission.

Eyes intent on her, Kanryū oozed his way forward and lifted Misao's hand for a kiss, Misao glad that her snug-fitting gloves both hid her callouses and protected her skin from his lips. They looked wet and she had to fight back the shiver of disgust as his lips settled on the back of her hand.

Smiling an oily smile, the man bent over Misao's hand said smoothly, "Allow me to present myself. I am Takeda Kanryū, businessman at your service."

Misao grudgingly let him hold her hand and forced herself to toss her head in a flirtatious manner. "Charmed," she purred out, making her voice low and husky.

"And by what name may I call you, my lady?" Kanryū questioned, his long fingers beginning to stroke the back of her hand. To stave off the urge to break his thumbs, Misao waved her fan with her free hand and tilted her head appealingly.

"You may call me Madam Noir," she said with a silky purr. At Sebastian's suggestion, Misao had adopted the popular street name for opium as her alias. From the smile that stretched across Kanryū's face, she knew that the significance of the name was not lost on him.

"A fitting name for one so mysterious and intoxicating," Kanryū responded. Clasping her hand in both of his, he said, "Would the Black Lady care to dance?"

_I'd __rather __shove __bamboo __splinters __under __my __fingernails, _Misao thought furiously as her mouth formed the words "Of course" and she let Kanryū lead her out onto the dance floor, his hand on the small of her back lower than protocol dictated. When they faced each other, he pulled her to him too close, almost crushing, and in the heat and cloyingly sweet air, Misao felt her head spin, but she forced herself to remain alert and attentive to Kanryū. His hands were tight and showed an annoying proclivity towards wandering in places they shouldn't go, and Misao had to constantly adjust herself, coquettishly making him lose ground in his attempts to clandestinely grope her and trying to give off the teasing aura of _Oh, __not __yet. __We've __just __met, __and __I __won't __let __you __go __too __far __right __now. __But __if __you're __patient..._

By the way Kanryū kept his eyes fixed on her, ignoring the other beauties in the room, Misao knew she had piqued his interest, and he kept up a lively stream of conversation as they stepped through the paces of the dance. She smiled and kept her answers at a minimum, giving little away. Her reticence only seemed to intrigue him and as the dance changed, he kept her firmly in his arms, seemingly blind to the other women who were eager to be his partner.

As the music soared, Misao feinted and sparred verbally, picking through Takada's words, intent on something useful buried in the oily flow of flirtations and intrigue. Finally, Kanryū's head dropped low to her ear as he murmured, "An interesting name, Madam Noir. It suits you. Is it indicative of your preference for black clothing or is there something...?" he let it trail off at the end.

Misao felt triumph and panic rising in her belly. Frantic less her beating pulse register against his palm, she let a tiny giggle escape her lips and said, "Perhaps. Black suits me well. But..." she leaned into him, letting breath from the mouth hole in her mask waft against his neck. "As a businessman, surely you know that being in the black is a good thing. In more than one way." Figuring she might as well make it convincing, Misao let a finger trail against his arm in a way that no lady should touch a gentleman she was not engaged to.

"Indeed." Kanryū's smile was positively a leer, but Misao could see that behind those eyes, his mind was working furiously. "Being in the black is certainly a good thing. Otherwise," he gave a light laugh, "All can go up in smoke, no?"

"Ah, but..." Misao stepped closer, hating the scent of his body and his touch against her skin but knowing that her efforts were not in vain. "Going up in smoke can also be a good thing, wouldn't you agree?" _I __hope __he's __getting __what __I'm __hinting __at, __otherwise __I __am __going __to __feel __like __a __total __idiot, _she thought to herself but the coded conversation was apparently clear to Kanryū because his knowing leer changed to a calculating one as his slitted eyes slanted down at her. She could see that behind his mask, he was wearing glasses, and it looked slightly odd, the glassy sheen of the lense magnifying the glitter in his eyes.

Moving Misao expertly across the floor, Kanryū said with a businesslike tone, "Perhaps this is a conversation we should have in another place, Madame Noir."

"Perhaps," Misao responded, making her tones coquettish. "When we have decided if we can trust each other."

"Always a wise course of action," Kanryū responded. "Both in love and..." he dropped his head again to her ear. "In business."

"I agree," Misao responded. "We could begin by me deciding if I trust you enough to bring me a cup of punch."

Kanryū laughed. "As my lady commands," he said with a gallant gesture and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Misao thankfully alone.

But not for long. Cool, slender fingers grasped hers as a tall, elegant figure expertly twirled her back into the maelstrom of whirling dervishes. Misao gasped at the elaborate Harlequin that towered over her, his long arms bent precisely around her frame as a familiar voice rang in her ear.

"I would advise you to not drink the punch, Ms. Bennet. One is never quite sure what goes into it at these particular gatherings."

"Sebastian!" Misao squeaked out, surprisingly thankful to be back in the butler's arms again. She hadn't quite decided if she could trust him and considering her current predicament was partly orchestrated by him, she wasn't even sure if she liked him all that much anymore but he was familiar and she derived some comfort from his presence. After Kanryū's questing fingers, Sebastian's hands, placed modestly on her shoulder blade and pressed against her palm, were welcome.

Bending low over her ear, the butler murmured, "I would be cautious about speaking my name out loud, my lady. We are, after all, in disguise, and there are some here who know the earl of Phantomhive and his butler." Sebastian smiled at her through his elaborate black, red, and white face paint and the black mask shading his curious ruby eyes.

"Sorry, you're right," Misao responded and allowed Sebastian to lead her across the floor, dipping and swirling. Kanryū was an accomplished dancer, but Sebastian moved like a liquid flame and Misao found herself barely having to think at all as he skilfully guided her through the steps. The dance was a mazurka, a style she was not very familiar with, but Misao quickly discovered that she simply needed to shut her brain off and let Sebastian do most of the work. They flowed across the dance floor, Sebastian as graceful as a cat and Misao getting about half the steps right and trying to look like she knew what she was doing.

"You are quite the dancer, Sebastian," she commented as he gracefully whirled her around to face him.

The black painted mouth tipped up in a half smile as the butler took her hand in his again, not faltering for a second as he replied, "You flatter me. I am merely one hell of a butler."

_Odd __choice __of __words,_ Misao thought to herself with a frown, something uncomfortable tapping at her insides. Sebastian had always been scrupulously exact to a fault and it was a shock to hear a curse word emanating from those classically crafted lips, but she had little time to think about his words for the pace of the dance was picking up and Sebastian was directing them across the dance floor in a purposeful manner. Misao soon realized that he was edging them towards the exit.

Leaning close, she murmured, "We're leaving?"

Gracefully moving her out of the way of an enthusiastic couple whirling towards them, Sebastian responded, "I think that is enough for one evening, and you have done splendidly, Ms. Bennet."

"But, but I didn't learn anything useful," Misao protested.

Sebastian's fingers squeezed hers ever so slightly. "You made the acquaintance of Takeda Kanryū and a memorable one at that. He is intrigued by you, my lady. Well done." Misao felt heat flushing up on her face but Sebastian continued. "Kanryū is a businessman. He knows when to take calculated risks and when to play it safe, but he thrives on challenge. You played your hand well, Ms. Bennet, open enough to spur interest but retiring enough to invite pursuit. Rest assured, he will not forget you and will be seeking you at further gatherings."

Misao had the uncomfortable feeling that Sebastian had overheard every word she and Kanryū had exchanged. The butler added, "This must be played delicately. Kanryū's eyes and ears are always open for danger and he trusts few people. My master does not wish you to take unnecessary risks. It is best that we retire for the evening."

Misao nodded and followed Sebastian towards the edge of the crowd as they carefully extricated themselves from the dance, but as they slipped through the panoply of bright colors and elaborate masks, a particular couple caught her eye. The woman was daring in a gown of deep crimson and a silver mask, and the gentleman she danced with was impressive in the flowing garments of a Japanese warlord, his mask a fierce _kabuto_ that covered his face. But Misao had an excellent eye not only for faces but for bodies and movement, and something about the man niggled at her. She stared at him for a long moment, then realized with dawning comprehension that she recognized the set of his shoulders and the shape of the long hands, uncovered by gloves.

_Mr. __Aoshi __Darcy, _Misao thought with amazement and shock. _What __on __earth __are __you __doing __here? _But she had little time for pondering because Sebastian was practically carrying her away from the crowds, slipping through the dark halls as Misao stumbled in her high heels and gasped for breath against the cruel bonds of her too-tight corset. They ducked and wove, avoiding other revelers and keeping close to the shadows until Sebastian pulled Misao into a dark room and spoke quietly into her ear.

"The downstairs are crowded, my lady and I'm afraid we must go through the window if we are to escape detection. Since you are hampered by your long skirts, I will take the liberty of carrying you. But don't worry," his voice was hot against her skin and she felt the familiar shiver building up again. "I promise I will not drop you." For the second time in less than three weeks, Misao found herself being scooped up in the butler's arms and pressed against his chest, a gesture that make her break out in blushes while a tiny portion of her brain sniggered _You __really __could __get __used __to __this, __you __know_. Flushing crimson, Misao kicked the thought aside as Sebastian leaped skillfully out the window, Misao's heart pounding but not quite as afraid as the first time he had taken a jump off a roof with her in his arms.

Landing as softly as a cat, the butler carefully put Misao's feet on the ground and she was not at all surprised to find the Phantomhive carriage not too far from where they landed. Sebastian opened the door with a bow and a smile and Misao let herself be directed inside it. Seating herself on the plush cushion, Misao glared at the opposite side of the carriage but it was parked under a tree and swathed in shadows and she could see little beyond her face. Out of the dark depths, a young voice spoke.

"Your efforts were successful, I expect."

Misao smoothed her satin skirts over her knees and tried to mentally run over the events of the past several hours. Her mind was spinning frantically, but she barked for order and things began falling in place. "I believe so," she responded quickly and as Sebastian gracefully seated himself at his master's side, Misao recounted all of what had transpired between her and Kanryū. The carriage pulled through the dark trees and out into the moonlit road, and Misao could glimpse flashes of the boy lord sitting across from her.

The Phantomhive earl said nothing until she was done recounting her activities, then he responded. "That went better than I expected. Clearly Kanryū will be looking forward to seeing you again." In the dark, a glimmer of blue flashed as his youthful fingers rubbed the ring on his thumb. Nothing was said for several moments, then the young lord spoke again. "Misao, you will be most useful to me in London. I want you to go there."

"London?" Misao repeated. "Okay, but I don't know what I will tell my parents. I can't simply leave them and go live in London on my own."

"You need a benefactress," the earl responded slowly. "Someone of power and prestige who is willing to take you under her wing. That will open many doors to you and make you more useful to me."

"That would thrill my mother to no end," Misao responded, and she meant it: Riko would likely burst into flames of joy to discover that her daughter had gained the attention of a rich, powerful woman.

Lord Ciel Phantomhive made a thoughtful noise under his breath, then continued. "It will be arranged. You will receive orders soon. In the meantime, you will return to your family and wait."

_As __long __as __I __can __get __out __of __this __damned __dress,_ Misao thought with a grumble. The entire evening had taken some orchestrating, and exhaustion was beginning to set in as the thrill of adrenaline wore off. Normally she and Tsubame shared a room and her sister would have noticed her absence that night, but Misao had made some excuse about developing a cold and wanting to sleep alone in the guest bedroom, a ruse that had let her slip quietly out of the house and ninja her way to the Phantomhive manor where Sebastian was waiting with a hairdresser, a lady's maid, and the ridiculously tight dress she was currently trussed up in. Thankfully the same maid was waiting back at the manor to extricate Misao from the gown's iron clutches so that she could slither gratefully back in her ninja uniform and slip out of the stately mansion towards home, pleased that her night's mission was over and she was unharmed and undetected.

Outside, the night was dark but dawn scented in the air and Misao was nearly stupid with sleep as she slipped towards her home, eyes alert for early-rising servants. She easily evaded detection and finally dropped into the guest bedroom, staring at the bed with longing eyes. A nightgown quickly replaced her espionage garments and Misao fell gratefully into bed, long lashes settling down on her cheeks.

Hardly an hour passed before a knock at the door startled her out of a deep slumber. "Misao, love, how are you feeling? Father is worried about you." The door swung open and Tsubame padded in, wrapped in a dressing gown and her brown hair up in cloth-wrapped twists. "If you are feeling up to it, he would like to see you." Gently, Tsubame sat down on the bed, her kind face lined with concern.

Stifling a heartfelt groan, Misao forced herself to yawn and stretch as if she had enjoyed a refreshing night's slumber and smiled at her sister. "I'll be right down."

_And __there __better __be __coffee __on __the __breakfast __table __or __I__ am __going __to __be __very __cranky,_ Misao added as she reluctantly kicked the covers back and prepared to face another day as a country gentlewoman. The sounds of her other sisters laughing and the clatter of servants outside her window jolted her back to reality, warm and substantive in their very ordinariness as the events of the past night slipping to the back of Misao's mind like the memories of a strange dream, no more real than the shadows on the wall which were chased away by the rising sun.

Spying the tail end of her ninja uniform peeking out from under the bed where she had shoved it, Misao pushed it back out of sight and tiredly followed her oldest sister to breakfast.

**Author's note: In the past when hand fans were a popular accessory, people developed an elaborate means of communicating with them. By holding her open fan in her left hand, Misao was telling Kanryū"I want to talk with you." Holding her fan with her left hand in front of her face signaled, "I want to know you better." If you like this subject, Google "language of fans". It is a fascinating study. **


	6. Dreams and Nightmares

**Author's note: Abney Park's song "Victorian Vigilante" is perfect for this story – it fits the _Black __Butler _theme. Listen to it on _YouTube _and tell me what you think! **

"My dear, Ms. Bennet, could I trouble you to pass the salt?" The pale, heavy-faced man bent his head obsequiously towards Misao whose fatigue-rattled nerves were tighter than a bowstring. She thought briefly about chucking the salt pillar at the man sitting at her left elbow and stomping away from the table in a huff to find more pleasant company elsewhere, but she resolutely throttled the urge and forced herself to smile tiredly at her breakfast companion, a certain Mr. William Collins, her second cousin and heir apparent to the Bennet estate. Since women could not inherit, Okina dropping dead meant that everything would go to Mr. Collins, a fact that made Misao even more inclined to dump a tray of scrambled eggs over his head and go racing off for her _kunai_.

Much as she would like to unceremoniously deposit her breakfast over Mr. Collins' thinning scalp, Misao knew that doing so would not be very conducive to fostering peaceful familial relationships. Instead, she stifled a frustrated growl and thought to herself, _More __unpleasant __events __to __deal __with. __Oh __joy. _While business had hindered Mr. Collins' attempts to bring comfort and aid to the Bennet females upon the sudden incapacitation of Mr. Bennet, at long last their relative had appeared on their doorstep to make his acquaintance with them all and (Riko loudly suspected) carefully evaluate his future inheritance. From the first meeting, Misao hadn't liked him and further exposure had done nothing to encourage the development of a different perception. Mr. Collins was, in short, pompous, dull, and a further annoyance in a house that was fair to bursting with it.

Most alarmingly, the newcomer had been paying particularly close attention to Misao ever since he had appeared on their doorstep two days ago, and she had quickly developed a deep-seated suspicion as to why. Much to her dismay, just that morning before breakfast she had overheard snatches of conversation between her second cousin and her mother and had caught enough words to make her heart sink: Mr. Collins, apparently, was on the hunt for a wife and had decided that one of his fair cousins would do nicely, an idea Riko heartily supported. From the way his head was now bent obsequiously towards Misao and his heavy-lidded eyes were peering at her with a decided air, like a farmer determining which piglet he wanted to bring home from the market, she had a looming premonition that Mr. Collins had settled on her as his life partner.

Normally, Misao liked a man who could make his mind up quickly but in this instance she was cursing her second cousin's prompt decision-making skills. Briefly, she had considered tucking her _kunai_ away in her belt in the case of an attack proposal, but she knew that even more than ever, keeping her unusual skills a secret from everyone was even more vital. _Best __get __it __over __with __quickly_, she thought glumly and steeled herself up for what was bound to be a painful and exceedingly uncomfortable event hovering in the near future.

It was. After breakfast, Mr. Collins petitioned Mrs. Bennet for a private audience with Misa,o and the matron of the house turned a blind eye to her second daughter's wordless plea to refuse the request. Instead, Riko happily gathered up her other daughters and bustled them out of the room as Misao sat rooted in her chair and resisting all urge to scream loudly and go clambering out of the window. _Please, __please, __please, __not __this,_ she petitioned the heavens frantically.

Completely insensitive of Misao's tight, anxious mouth and the undisguised look of dread etched in every pore on her face, her unwanted suitor promptly launched into a windy monologue heavily garnished with multisyllable words and curiously void of any indication that Misao might be less than thrilled with his offer. Through the haze of her extreme discomfort and sheer mortification, Misao could only discern a few words here and there, but these snatches were enough to confirm what she already knew: Mr. Collins was in the market for a suitable wife and had decided that Misao would fit the bill nicely. As his entirely unwanted and premature proposal limped painfully forward, she sat immobile and trying not to cringe until she could stand it no longer and cut him off somewhere in the middle of a dense forest of syntax.

"Mr. Collins, you must forgive me, but I must decline your honorable proposal," Misao said with as much graciousness as she could muster which was only skimming the surface of civility. Behind her gritted teeth, she silently muttered, _I __know __about __two __dozen __ways __to __kill __you. __Please, __please, __remove __yourself __from __my __presence __before __I __am __forced __to __choose __which __one __will __most __painfully __complete __the __deed._

Mr. Collins' face gave hardly a twitch, and the man continued doggedly as if she hadn't uttered a syllable. "You will find that the union of our hands in holy matrimony will ensure the felicity and security of all involved, particularly as your honored father is severely incapacitated and unable to adequately provide for the safety of..."

"Mr. Collins, I assure you that my father will recover in due time and care for us as he always has," Misao interrupted, heat rising in her voice as crimson spread rosy tracks across her cheeks. _Somebody __kill __me __now_, she thought. _Or __kill __my __second __cousin. __At __this __point, __I'm __not __in __a __position __to __be __choosy._

"Ms. Bennet," Mr. Collins' voice took on a condescending tone overshadowed with sternness. "Your trust in your father's fortitude is admirable. Yet, he is not in the flush of his youth, and it is wholly possible that he will not fully regain complete command of his mental and physical faculties. For the monetary well-being and happiness of your entire family, it is entirely misguided of you to quickly dismiss a proposal that stands to gain..."

"Nothing of _my_ happiness, I can assure you of that," Misao interrupted, feeling her voice arch up in frustration as her feet propelled her adroitly out of her chair, anxious to put as much distance between her and her unwanted suitor as possible. "I thank you very much, Mr. Collins, but as much as I wish for the health and happiness of my family, I am fully convinced that you are not the sort of man who will make _me_ happy. I beg you find your joy in the presence of another woman who welcomes your attentions. I must ask them not be directed at me."

Mr. Collins was still staring at Misao with a flat, impassive expression that reminded her oddly of a stunned cow, and she realized that further conversation would be pointless. Picking up her skirts, she fled the room with as much dignity as she could muster, fully intent on escaping the house in entirely misguided hopes that everything would blow over quickly. Much to her dismay, her sisters Okon and Ayama had been lurking at the door and had heard every syllable that had been uttered; it required only a few seconds for them to race to their mother and reported every word. Upon discovery of what had just transpired, Riko dissolved into a hysteria of shrieks and agitated demands that Misao accept Mr. Collins' offer, and three of her daughters added their squeals of excitement to the mix as a opera-worth drama erupted violently in the Bennet household. Luckily in the ensuing commotion, Misao managed to slip out the back door and flee the house, a few angry tears leaking down her face.

Heedless of her skirts and social edicts against ladies running anywhere unless there was a raging fire compelling rapid locomotion, Misao ran and ran until her sides were heaving against her corset and her hair falling in waves around her face. When exhaustion finally forced her to stop, she stood panting for several minutes and let loose a small fit of angry foot stomping punctuated by dark curses raining down on on Mr. Collins, fate, family, and the world in general until fatigue began overtaking rage.

Running a hand over her wet face, Misao sniffled as her full lips twisted in a thoughtful pout and logic began mustering the chaotic tumble of thoughts in her head into orderly lines. Much as she detested the very thought of Mr. Collins' offer, she could not deny that it had merit: by marrying him, Misao could ensure her family's financial future and remove all worries about what would happen to the Bennet women should they suddenly be bereft of their male head. Her marriage to Mr. Collins would guarantee that Misao's sisters and mother would be provided for and the estate remain in the family once Okina died, whether that was now or in twenty years. Also, in joining her hands with the man, Misao knew she could set aside her duties to the Phantomhive manor and extricate herself from the tangled web of subterfuge and entanglements that was slowly wrapping her in its clutches. Over the past week or so, Misao had become gradually more convicted that the depths of the earl's activities were bottomless and her continued employment with him would sink her down with him.

And now here was a way out. An odious option, but one that all reason and common sense would urge her to take. But Misao was extremely cognizant that as questionable and dark as the work offered to her by the Phantomhive earl was, it brought with it certain freedoms she had dreamed of but had never seriously hoped to attain. The ball event had been dangerous but thrilling and despite the stress and worries that had infiltrated her life over the past month, the memory of intrigue and cunning had been a lift to her spirits and had helped her keep her head high. In contrast, life as Mrs. Collins, prim and proper and forever separated from her _kunai_ sounded worse than hanging. No. She'd throw her lot in with the earl. It was that or die a slow death via social expectation and filial duty.

Tugging her hands thought her hair, Misao realized with a start that without the earl's offer, she would have been pressed to seriously consider Mr. Collins' proposal. In fact, as Misao carefully evaluated her options (of which there were a disheartening paucity), she knew with certainty that had she not taken that impromptu skitter across a roof a few weeks ago, she would right now most likely be the deeply reluctant fiancéeof a particularly dull and oppressive man.

_What's __that __expression? _Misao thought to herself. _Lie __down __with __dogs, __wake __up __with __fleas? _Well, she was on the payroll of the Queen's watchdog and fleas or not, she'd do her duty. Wiping the last of the tears away, Misao set her jaw and began pinning her windblown hair back up on her head. Every fiber in her being protested the idea of returning to the house but she knew eventually she would have to face Mr. Collins' demands and her mother's hysterics. Fervently, Misao hoped that her father was not disturbed by all the noise; he didn't need this to deal with in the midst of all his health concerns.

The thought made Misao turn her head towards home, intent on returning to her father's side, but she realized it was going to be a hike back; in fleeing the house, her only thought had been to get as far away from Mr. Collins as humanly possible, and her feet had served her well. Sighing, Misao pondered dropping by her best friend Tae Lucas's house to seek condolence before reluctantly dragging herself home, but as her feet found the road and grudgingly began following it, an enormous, ornately decorated carriage rattled into view. Gleaming in the sun and pulled by a perfectly matched set of light gray horses with coats as glossy as oil, it clattered towards Misao with a self-important air. She automatically stepped aside to let the carriage pass but was surprised as it stopped and a loud, imperial voice rang out from the window.

"You there, girl! You are Misao Bennet, are you not?"

"Yes, ma'am," Misao answered, curious and a touch wary. From the elaborate crest on the door of the carriage and the voice that brooked no refusal echoing from its depths, she knew she was speaking to someone of very high rank who had little tolerance for the slightest sign of disobedience.

"Get in," the voice commanded as the carriage door swung open. Misao stared at the open door, one brow quirked in uncertainty. After a second or two, a beautiful but severe-looking female visage moved into view and looked at her impatiently.

"I said get in, girl. I mean you no harm. I am the Marchioness of Milford, aunt of Ciel Phantomhive." A long, well-shaped hand beckoned commandingly as the peer's sharp eyes raked her appraising.

_"You __need __a __benefactress," _the earl's voice rang in Misao's memory. "_Someone __of __power __and __prestige __who __is __willing __to __take __you __under __her __wing.__" _Still reluctant but knowing that refusal or denial were essentially pointless, Misao slowly climbed into the carriage and seated herself across from the woman, observing her carefully and not bothering to drop her eyes modestly. No sense pretending she was a meek and delicately-raised proper lady; no doubt the Marchioness had heard enough from the earl to surmise what Misao was decidedly not.

The Marchioness of Milford was a youthful-looking, beautiful woman, imperially dressed along stern lines with a proud, upright figure, but her face was hard and seemed permanently set in an expression of criticism. Her eyes raked Misao openly as her tight mouth narrowed. "Hmm, what have you been doing with yourself, girl, all tousled and wind-blown? A lady should never run around outside like that. Most unseemly."

Misao felt fatigue and stress scream in every vein as the words thudded against her strained nerves. With all that had happened in her life lately, she wasn't particularly inclined to be cowed by some unpleasant woman with an elegant dress and fancy pedigree so letting some impudence slip into her voice, she responded, "My lady must pardon me. I was escaping a particularly distasteful proposal."

The Marchioness's face narrowed even more. "Oh, I imagine it was from your second cousin Mr. Collins, if I am not correct?"

Misao looked at her with open-mouth surprise. "You know him?" she inquired incredulously.

The Marchioness gave an impatient gesture with her hand. "My rector. I have consented to be his patroness. A rather dull young man, but steady and completely proper in everything he does. One can trust him to act with utmost propriety in absolutely everything. I've advised him to marry, and he indicated that he was thinking of finding a wife among his second cousins."

A sharp eye fell on Misao but she didn't cower under its gaze. "The wife of Mr. Collins would never want for anything and such a match would be most beneficial for your entire family. Are you sure that this is an opportunity you want to throw away, girl, especially considering the alternative presented to you?"

"Yes," Misao answered decisively and firmly, matching her traveling companion's steely glare. "I'd do whatever I can to prevent being Mrs. Collins."

The two women gazed at each other for a long moment before the Marchioness nodded her head sharply. "Well, I think you are a fool, girl, but you've made your decision. You know what my nephew involves himself in?"

Misao sighed. "Not nearly as much as I should before I made this decision, but it is one I have made. I will not back out now."

The lady sniffed again. "Myself, I have little to do with Ciel's...particular activities, but the Phantomhive manor has a duty to the Crown, and far be it from me to hinder that." Peering at Misao keenly, she said thoughtfully, "You don't lack for courage, child, I will grant you that. But..." her tone became business-like. "To be in my nephew's employ will require a lot more than that. If you are so resolved to go through with this, you need my help."

"As a benefactress?" Misao questioned.

The lady nodded. "Yes." Giving Misao a hard look, she tapped a long finger against her chin thoughtfully. "You will come with me and my daughter to London. Ciel has use for you there. There must be a reason you can give to your family. But what excuse to give...?"

Misao didn't respond; the lady appeared to be slipping into hard thought and Misao was currently too preoccupied with steeling herself up for this new life change to be overbothered with keeping the conversation going. Stifling back a yawn of fatigue, Misao kept her chin up and did not let her eyes leave the lady's face as she pondered the fact that that despite her requests to the earl of Phantomhive, visible ties were already starting to link her with the Phantomhive manor – with the earl's aunt as her benefactress, Misao knew that people would start to make connections and eventually her father would become suspicious, perhaps enough to start digging into the matter if his recovery permitted him to slip back into his former pursuits. But it was getting a little too late to worry about eventual discovery: Misao was happy to settle for keeping her family safe and provided for and herself alive.

Finally, the high-ranking lady seemed to arrive at some inner conclusion. Rapping a command to her carriage driver, she halted the carriage and Misao found herself being curtly ushered outside to stand in the dusty road. The Marchioness bent her noble head to the window and proclaimed, "Return home, girl, and don't let my rector trouble you too much. I will arrive at your family's home tomorrow to arrange details."

With that, the carriage rattled away, leaving Misao equally rattled, but strangely relieved. Whoever this Marchioness was and whatever hand she had in the earl's activities, she would soon be taking Misao very far away from a furious Riko determined to marry her off to Mr. Collins and away from Mr. Collins himself. Although the Marchioness had dubbed Mr. Collins, "my rector", Misao knew their destination was London and with a stroke of luck, her erstwhile suitor would stay at the rectory where he belonged and find some other female to annoy. With that thought, Misao blew out tiredly between her lips and began legging it home again, brain buzzing with new information. Apparently life would be taking yet another sharp gallop in a new direction and her path was bending towards London. Misao hated to leave her father and Tsubame behind, not to mention their friends and the comforts of home (once Mr. Collins was no longer residing there), but duty called and she would comply.

And then just to make her day really complete, after about five minutes of walking, Misao spotted a tall, dark horse accompanied by a tall, dark-haired rider who was none other than Aoshi Darcy and who was currently headed directly towards her. Misao bit the inside of her lip to fight back a scream of frustration, wondering briefly what other extreme annoyances fate had in store for her that day. As the gentleman in question headed her way, Misao shot a glance at the woods and mentally toyed with ninja-disappearing into its welcoming depths but Mr. Darcy had fixed on her position and vanishing on the spot would look rather odd so she stayed put. As the glossy black animal approached her side, Aoshi Darcy pulled it to a stop and bowed from the saddle, his blue eyes fastened upon her.

"Ms. Bennet." The gentleman's voice was quiet and even as normal, but a slight touch of curiosity ran through his tones. In her flight away from the house, Misao's feet had taken her to a side road that didn't lead to town or the neighbors. Dully, she realized her new companion was probably wondering why she was wandering around in the country alone, but Misao wasn't particularly inclined to offer answers. She also had a suspicion her hair was still a mess and that there were tear tracks down her cheeks, and if Aoshi started inquiring as to why she looked so disheveled, Misao wasn't entirely sure that she wouldn't give him a good, hard kick, then steal his horse and gallop away cackling hysterically. She had never less desired company, even more less the gentleman currently occupying that position, and all she fervently wished for at that moment was for him to go away and leave her alone.

Aoshi obviously didn't hear her mentally telegraphed request because with a fluid motion, he dismounted, his ice blue eyes never leaving her face. She glowered at him under the shelter of her thick lashes, but the courtesy of his words surprised her. "May I escort you home?" he questioned.

Misao gave her head a toss. "That is kind of you, Mr. Darcy, but I am well-accustomed to walking by myself and surely business calls you to more pressing matters."

The quiet courtesy again surprised her. "I have no particularly pressing business to attend. I am at your disposal, Ms. Bennet." With that, his tall, lean frame moved to walk by her side as if he had every intention of staying there, Misao cursing him out in her head as she grudgingly kept walking with him next to her like an unwanted shadow.

Despite the irksomeness of his presence, Misao was sorely tempted to try to suss out why Mr. Darcy, from whom all appearance was an upright character, would be among the libertine revelers at the masked ball she had attended, but she could not quite figure out how to do so without revealing her own appearance at the event. Although she disliked the man and tried to avoid his company as much as she could, it had niggled at her constantly why he had been present at the dance. While Mr. Darcy was well-known for being proud and disdainful, no other charge had even been leveled against his character and there was no earthly reason why he should have been in attendance unless he had deep, dark secrets he carefully veiled from the public eye.

Misao amused herself for several moments with imagining what sort of questionable escapades Mr. Darcy could get up to in his spare time, but eventually the silence between the two became palpable. She didn't feel like bringing up the usual socially-accepted subjects such as the weather, the condition of the roads, and the health of their respective families and acquaintances. Exhaustion and stress was making her punchy and in a rather impish mood, Misao turned to her unwanted companion with a touchy conversation topic just to provoke him. Maybe if she bothered him enough he'd remount and ride off in a huff.

"You seemed surprised, Mr. Darcy, to find me walking by myself in the country," Misao said brightly. "Tell me, do you share the opinion of most men that women are particularly delicate, fragile creatures that must be carefully protected?"

His response surprised her. "I believe women are worthy of men's protection, but I have seen the female servants of my house and my estate fulfill hard, demanding tasks with strength and skill."

Despite herself, Misao could not help her eyes from moving over to his; Aoshi's face was serious and thoughtful, and his response raised him a fraction of an inch in her eyes. Men of status generally turned a blind eye to the plight of the people toiling under them to make their lives comfortable, and Misao was surprised that he had noticed the women working on his estate. It showed a consideration and insight that demanded at least a little respect from her.

Covering it up, Misao gave a little laugh and said, "So then, Mr. Darcy, you believe that women would be best served by taking on all the tasks that men carry?" Waving her hand daintily, she smiled, "I would not take you for a supporter of women's suffrage, Mr. Darcy."

Again his response surprised and unsettled her. "No. There are difficulties and hardships that are too great to be born by women, and it is the privilege of men to protect women from these tasks." For one brief moment, something smouldered in his eye, calling dark fire to their icy depths, and the flutter of emotion made Misao's heart thud strangely. But in a flash it was gone and calmness reigned again. Quietly, he continued, "But I believe women in general are more capable than society would deem them to be."

Misao suddenly felt a burning desire to drop the topic, but she still wanted to provoke her tall companion further to see if she could successfully ruffle his calm exterior. With a light laugh, she sang out, "I am surprised to hear such words from you, Mr. Darcy. From what I have been able to discern of your character and tastes, there are few women accomplished enough to gain your admiration."

He said nothing for a moment, then responded slowly, "It is true I have met few women who are not only accomplished in skills such music, art, and language but have also broadened their minds with extensive reading. Such a woman would have my admiration indeed."

Misao laughed again, "Yes, such is the burden men lay upon women! In one moment, you berate us for our foolishness and lack of sense and in another moment declare that we are too weak and fragile to overburden our minds with study. What are we poor women to do in order to fulfill your expectations for us?"

Aoshi paused for a moment and Misao again saw the strange glimmer of fire in his eyes; she felt a thrill of triumph as to having irritated him. But they were nearly at her house by now and as much as Misao didn't want to face the chaos that was awaiting her inside, spending another moment at Mr. Aoshi Darcy's side was intolerable.

With a stiff bow, she addressed herself to her taciturn companion and said, "You must forgive me for not inviting you inside, Mr. Darcy. My family is at odds today and I fear we are not fit companions. My second cousin proposed to me this morning, and I refused his request, much to the dismay of my mother, so as you can well imagine, our house is less than tranquil." Misao had meant to be impudent and abrasive, but to her dismay, a fresh battalion of tears rushed to her eyes as she spoke the words and for one horridly confusing moment wanted to collapse into sobs on Aoshi's shoulder. Quickly grabbing hold of her self-control, she hurried into the house, leaving an oddly disconcerted and troubled Aoshi behind.

_A __curious __woman, _Aoshi thought to himself silently as he watched Misao escape into the house. She was an intriguing character and much as he struggled to brush the feelings aside, during their encounters over the past few weeks he had found himself being drawn towards her presence in a way that was irksomely persistent. Pointedly, he tried to ignore the disappointment that had instantly manifested itself when she had announced her recent proposal and the relief that had followed when she had stated her refusal. If it weren't for their differences in social status, Aoshi had a looming suspicion that he would be in mortal peril of falling in love with her. Shaking his head slightly, the tall man remounted his horse and turned it towards the road, abandoning Misao to whatever it was that awaited her inside.

It wasn't pretty. Riko spent the remainder of the day badgering Misao ceaselessly and outright demanding that she accept Mr. Collins' proposal for which Misao stalwartly refused. Only by eventually barricading herself in her father's room did Misao find any sanctuary. To her great good fortune, Okina was alert and cognizant enough to listen to her tale and quietly but firmly order his wife to shut up.

"If Misao has said no, then I trust her judgment," he pronounced. His voice was still weak from injury, but every word was firm.

"But my love, I..." Riko protested, but a stern look from her husband cut her off. Okina knew when to be firm with his wife, and her protests died under his look. Defeated but defiant, Riko burst into stormy tears and sailed off to her room, wailing loudly about her poor nerves and leaving Misao mercifully unbothered at last.

Patting her hand, Okina smiled at his favorite daughter. "This will pass eventually, child. Be patient," he whispered quietly before closing his eyes to sleep again, the stress of the event eating away at his slight energy. Misao watched him carefully, observing her father with measured eyes as he slipped into a light doze, then she blew out tiredly through trembling lips. She wasn't quite sure if she wanted to sob or laugh, but a funny tickle in her belly sent her abdomen shaking with mirth.

Misao pressed her face against the comforter and laughed silently, feeling the absurd humor of her present situation vibrating in every vein. It was really too much: butlers and spies and proposals and intrigue and all sorts of ridiculous things happening. She had thought for years that her life was maddeningly dull and uninteresting. Now, with everything turning itself inside and out, a little bit of dullness seemed quite welcome, but it didn't look like she would be seizing hold of it anytime soon.

Choking back a snort of mirth born out of sheer exhaustion and stress, Misao thought wildly, _What __next? __Will __I __be __kidnapped __by __pirates? __Discover __a __unicorn __in __the __backyard? __Oh __I __know, _she giggled as she slid to the floor, her body shaking with silent laughter, _Mr. __Darcy __will __fall __in __love __with __me, __that's __what! _Completely abandoning herself to wild amusement and heedless of her father snoring quietly on the bed, Misao dropped to the floor and laughed hysterically until she was a hiccuping, gasping mess on the rug and sleep began dragging at her eyes.

Within moments, she was sucked down into the murky depths of a strange, unsettling dream; as it spun and wove over her head, Misao found herself dressed in a sweeping gown of bloody red and surrounded by shadowy figures which dipped and swayed in a wild dance around her. Her feet were moving to the tune of the cacophonous music because something had her in its grasp and was forcing her through the steps of the dance; she could feel the prick of talons against her skin as pointed teeth flashed in the scattered light and leaned in towards the skin on her neck. Gasping, Misao fought to free herself, but something weighty yet invisible immobilized her limbs, mocking her efforts to break loose and the claws on her skin bit in deeply, pinning her to the creature.

But something stronger had her; a large, warm hand was pulling her away to safety. Arms wrapped around her and clear blue eyes was gazing at her with a strange warmth.

_Misao_...a voice called out from the darkness over the chaotic tumble of wild music swirling around her.

But Misao's eyes would not leave the stranger's face. His arms were protective, whirling her away from the strange taloned creature that was trying to pluck her free from her rescuers' arms, its hard face split with a hungry smile, ruby eyes glittering like blood-washed diamonds.

"_Misao.__"__._.. Dimly, she recognized Tsubame's soft voice and the dream began fading away, phantom shadows in her mind disappating as the full noon sun tapped at the edges of her closed eyes. The face of the stranger who held her began to distort and shimmer, disappearing in front of her but as the blue eyes melted into the brightness of sunlight pouring in from the window, she recognized the stranger with one startled jolt.

It was Aoshi Darcy. Unconsciously, Misao reached a hand towards him as he faded into the distance, his eyes still fastened on her with that strange warmth. Soft skin touched her fingers, and Misao woke to find her palm brushing across Tsubame's cheek, the dream fading against the warmth of the afternoon sun

**Author's note: By happy circumstance, the Marchioness of Milford from _Black __Butler_ and Lady Anne Catherine from _Pride __and __Prejudice_ bear so much similarity that they can almost substitute for each other in this story. Originally I was going to use Lady Anne for Misao's benefactress, but in the end I picked the Marchioness since she worked a little better for this story.**


	7. London Encounters of the Foggy Kind

**Author's note: Aoshi gets himself up to more daring-do skulduggery and Misao foots it to London to see what adventures await her there. And I still have Abney Park's "Victorian Vigilante" stuck in my head. Please read and review!**

"Sir, like some?" A slender pipe reeking of a thick, chokingly sweet smoke was pressed to Aoshi's hand as a thin, moon-faced girl who could not be more than fourteen grinned blearily at him, her too-wide eyes strangely glassy and unfocused. Her words were slurred, a thick Chinese accent overlaying her broken English, and there were deep dark circles under her eyes. Aoshi bit back a shudder of revulsion and forced himself to smile gently at the girl while his ice blue eyes swept her in one calculating glance. Gaunt limbs showing goose-pimpled white flesh only nominally covered by her skimpy clothing and lank, listless hair of a dull black hanging limply down to her waist. _Addicted, __malnourished __and __abused,_ Aoshi thought quickly as his sharp eyes spotted a fading bruise on the tender flesh under her right arm. Pity touched him and he felt a strong urge to sweep the girl up in his arms and carry her away from this nightmare.

Instead Aoshi restrained himself – there were dozens of girls just like this one stumbling around the Crimson Rose, and he had every intention of saving them all. Despite the tragic loss of its owner, the brothel was still in full swing. Mr. Edgington's business partners were carrying on his immoral vision with enthusiasm, and the opulent cathouse was packed to the brim with inebriated, opium-sucking men with thick bankrolls in their pockets and not a shred of consciousness in their hearts. Some of the girls had fresh-faced, scared looks that bespoke of their recent forced employment; the Crimson Rose had apparently brought in new recruits to make up for the ones who had succumbed to disease and addiction.

The girl stumbled against Aoshi and he caught her gently, the forced smile leaving her face for one moment as unendurable sadness and hopelessness rushed over her small frame in palpable waves. But in the next moment it was gone as the girl pulled herself jerkily to her feet and slithered off to find her next customer. Aoshi watched her go, his mouth a thin line of controlled anger. _I __will __be __back __for __you,_ he promised her silently. _All __of __you. _He had gotten into this mess for the sake of Ciel but the more Aoshi dug into Kanryū's dealings and seen how many lives were being ruined, the less he had come to care about one dead aristocrat. Even without his duties to the Phantomhive lord, Aoshi had no intention of letting Kanryū continue to unleash tons of Black Pearl across London and God knows where else he was shipping it.

If it would have been a simple matter of assassinating Kanryū, Aoshi would have seen to it personally. But the man had more webs spun than a forest of spiders, and Aoshi knew that the entire rotten organization needed to be destroyed from the inside out; there were too many powerful men involved for the whole thing to disintegrate with one man's death. Shaking his head a little at the thought, Aoshi stepped silently through the reeking gloom of the brothel, artfully avoiding the drunken stagger of high-ranking men stumbling across his path until his feet stepped out onto the cobbles, bearing him away from the cacophonous din inside the building. The streets were dark and lurking with shadowy figures alert for any inebriated souls with spare cash and a dim awareness of their surroundings to wander by, but Aoshi's tall, purposeful bearing and the hard look in his eye quickly discouraged any potential thief from trying his luck.

Aoshi's long strides took him through the shadows, his footsteps firm but quiet against the dank cobbles as moonlight played among the bricks and cast eerie phantoms around his white-cloaked frame. Suddenly he paused, shoulders drawing up in alertness.

"Oh, Aoshi, _darling_, you've returned to me at last!" A high-pitched voice rang out gleefully as a sweep of red hair swung into view, silhouetted against the shrouded moon. Crouched on the apex of a roof, the Grim Reaper grinned ecstatically as he leaped dramatically from the building to land at Aoshi's side, eyes flashing in delight.

Aoshi sighed deeply. "What are you doing here, Grell?" he demanded icily.

"Oh beloved man, don't be so harsh!" the other figure, sharp teeth clacking in enthusiasm, warbled loudly. "The Crimson Rose is giving me so much work to do," he swooned dramatically. "All that opium and alcohol the girls consume. Three of them died by their own hands just this week," he giggled, twirling the chainsaw around his finger in wild circles.

Aoshi's eyes grew even icier. "Suicide is no cause for celebration," he pronounced coldly. "You disgust me, Reaper."

"Oh, don't be harsh with me, my darling love," the Reaper pleaded. "I'm just a Grim Reaper, you know little ole me. Must do my job, although how can I attend to my work properly when my heart bleeds with desire for your love, my man of steel?"

Aoshi eyed the chainsaw, wondering how easy it would be to cut it with a slice of his _kodachi_ but instead he demanded flatly, "What do you want, Reaper?"

"Merely to see your darling face again!" Grell caterwauled loudly, breaking into an impromptu twirl on the spot as Aoshi's fingers reached automatically for his _kodachi_ handle, itching to send the Grim Reaper back to hell where he belonged.

"I do wish you would run along, Grell. Some of us have actual business to discuss," a third voice sounded in the darkness as a tall, black-clad figure stepped into view, marble-white face glowing in faint light of the moon.

Aoshi barely nodded, his eyes glacial. "Sebastian."

"Mr. Aoshi Darcy." The smile was lifted slightly with amusement and challenge, and Aoshi felt himself returning it at the sight of the butler, civility a thin skim veiling the battle for dominance roaring under the surface of both men.

The butler bowed, grace evident in every line, but Aoshi didn't return it. It was unseemly for a gentleman to bow to a mere servant even if the servant was no mere man. "You have business?" he questioned levelly.

Sebastian smiled again, ruby gleaming in his eye. "My master has hopes that you had discovered something of use." Every word was deferential, but Aoshi could hear the challenge rising in each vowel.

"This situation is far more complex and involved than we suspected at first," he responded slowly. "The Crimson Rose has suffered little since the death of its owner. In fact, revenue was up seven percent in the past two weeks. Edgington clearly had well-informed business partners who have stepped into his role, and the enterprise is flourishing in his absence."

"And the death of Lord Pickering?" Sebastian inquired. "Her Majesty is impatient for news of what befell her favorite nephew."

Aoshi said nothing for a moment, then continued. "Lord Pickering was not merely a devoted patron of the Crimson Rose. From what I have been able to gather, he was an active shadow partner in the enterprise."

"Interesting," the butler responded. "Well, that certainly complicates everything."

"Indeed," Aoshi nodded.

The butler's smile grew thinner, "My lord will be awaiting your next report."

"I will be at his disposal," Aoshi replied coldly, then swept his cloak around him, leaving the butler and Reaper in the dark streets. His footsteps quickly lead him away from the murky redlight district and out into less questionable streets as he traversed the dank cobbles, his mind dark and churning with thoughts.

London was much as Aoshi remembered it, all glamor and elegance on the surface but with indescribable suffering, inhumanity, and cruelty touching every surface. Factories churning out their poisoned fumes while countless souls toiled their lives away inside, ragged children scrounging for food on the streets, disease-riddled prostitutes eking out a living on their backs, and everywhere avaricious souls growing fat and rich from trampling the weak under their feet. Aoshi's shadow work took him into the very depths of the slums and the very heights of high society, and the parallels between the two were at times astonishingly similar; same rapacious, grasping demands and bloody battles for survival whether it was two men squabbling over a fresh corpse to ransack or a pair of society ladies determined to outmaneuver the other one.

_Plague __take __them __all_, Aoshi thought in disgust as the streets under his feet gave way to a particularly wealthy quarter of the city, elegant carriages clattering past him with a self-important air. One particularly ornate carriage was halted in the street under the warm light of a street lamp, and Aoshi recognized the elaborate crest on the door. _I __see __you __are __in __London, __Marchioness, _he thought to himself, his eyes narrowing a trifle. As entangled as he was in Ciel's pursuits, Aoshi was well-acquainted with the stately Marchioness and their paths had crossed numerous times, though she only knew him as an old friend of the Phantomhives, little suspecting the shadow work he performed for the earl. The Marchioness was a forceful, intelligent woman and had he a title to his name, Aoshi had a faint suspicion that the lady would be interested in a power merger between the estates of Milford and Darcy. He smiled thinly to himself at the thought. The Marchioness was a beautiful woman and many men would be tempted by the offer, but Aoshi was no fool. A marriage to one like the lady would be a constant battle for dominance with not a moment of domestic tranquility, and he had enough of power struggles in his professional life.

The peer's carriage was halted and the coachmen were busy with the horses in a way that spoke of trouble, so Aoshi dutifully slipped forward out of the shadows to offer his assistance. As he moved towards the vehicle, a head of shining black hair, gleaming in the lamp light, appeared at the window as a familiar voice danced towards him.

"Anything wrong?" Aoshi froze at the sound, astonished to see no other than Ms. Misao Bennet twisting her small frame to peer out the window at the coachmen.

"Nothing much, Miss, just a small rock in the horse's foot. We'll be on our way shortly," a coachman responded and Aoshi watched in surprise as two striking blue eyes swung around to land on him. The topaz-colored orbs opened wide as the moon as her full lips gaped in astonishment at this sight of his tall frame apparating out of the shadows.

"Ms. Bennet," Aoshi nodded at her as he strode up to the carriage, irked to feel something warm and pulsing thumping away inside his torso. Misao's face was warring between surprise and what looked like muffled irritation, but he could not bring himself to turn his eyes away from hers.

"Darcy? Is that you?" a familiar, powerful voice echoed from the interior of the carriage and the Marchioness's stern face appeared besides Misao's. "I thought I heard your voice," she commented, an assessing look in her eye as she gave him a sharp nod. "Business brings you to London, I assume?"

"Marchioness. As astute as ever, my lady," Aoshi responded with a frigid bow. Straightening up, he pointedly ignored the peer in favor of the diminutive young woman at her side who was still staring at him as if she hadn't quite made up her mind how to respond next.

Without giving Misao time to formulate a comment, Aoshi turned to her and questioned, "I am pleased to see you in London, Ms. Bennet. I trust your family is well and that your father is continuing to recover." What he really wanted to say was _How __on __earth __did __you __become __entangled __with __the __Marchioness __and __why __are __you __in __London? _But he restrained himself, cognizant that the answer would likely be forthcoming.

The Marchioness answered his unspoken questions by stating regally, "Ms. Bennet performed a very great and heroic deed on behalf of Elizabeth. The poor child became separated from her nurse when they were walking in the woods, and Elizabeth fell down an abandoned well. Ms. Bennet rescued my daughter at great risk to herself. I decided I had use for her in London and have taken her under my wing as my protégé."

Misao tasted the lie hanging in the air. She detested falsehood, but there needed to be some rational excuse for why the Marchioness was now presiding as her benefactress. As far as lies went, this one was wholly probable: abandoned wells dotted the countryside and it was not at all unknown for some hapless soul to accidentally fall into one. Misao's parents and sisters had swallowed the falsehood wholeheartedly and had seen her off to London with their blessing. Riko was besides herself with joy, and Misao knew that her mother was both busy planning all sorts of ways this new enterprise could benefit the family and secretly relieved that her tomboy daughter was off in London where hopefully she would not embarrass them all. Okina said little and Tsubame tried to smile, but Misao knew that both would miss her deeply. However, she was a trifle relieved to leave home; keeping secrets from her father was proving more and more difficult as Okina slowly recovered. Better to be in London where she could pursue whatever it was the earl had for her to do while her family was safe and provided for at home.

Aoshi's cool blue eyes had scarcely left Misao's face and despite herself, something warm skipped through her veins. As much as she had disliked the man at first encounter, repeated exposure was steadily wearing away at her hearty disdain of his presence. Wrapped in a white cloak and towering over her, his handsome frame made her pulse flutter strangely and she twitched at her skirts to hide the skirmish of emotions that had perked to life at his appearance.

But the gentleman was exchanging words with the titled lady, his quiet voice even and steady with a rumbling overtone that played along Misao's spine in a delicious shiver. "May I call upon you tomorrow, Marchioness?" Aoshi questioned but Misao had the odd feeling that his request was directed more at her than the peer.

The Marchioness sniffed. "Aoshi Darcy is always welcome in my house. And," she thumped on the side of the carriage, "if you will excuse us, I must get my daughter home. She is tired." Misao shot a quick look at the corner of the carriage where twelve year old Elizabeth was fast asleep, her luxuriant curls splayed across the rich velvet cushions. Misao frowned a little to herself; the girl was flighty, impetuous, and possessed not a shred of the common sense and control her mother exuded. Misao hoped that Elizabeth could keep her facts straight about the fabricated "rescue" that had brought them together in case the girl was ever questioned closely, but from what Misao had seen so far, Elizabeth had trouble keeping any information in her head for more than two seconds.

Still chewing worriedly over this, Misao watched as Aoshi made a deep bow and took his leave, slipping into the shadows as the carriage rattled forward. The Marchioness' imperial voice broke through the gloom of her thoughts.

"You know Aoshi?" she demanded stridently.

Misao nodded faintly. "We are...acquainted through Mr. Yahiko Bingley who is a friend of the family."

The Marchioness sniffed. "Aoshi's a good man and a gentleman and Ciel speaks well of him," she said with grudging approval.

"They are acquainted?" Misao said curiously.

The Marchioness sat ramrod straight on the carriage seat. "The Darcys and Phantomhives have long been friends. Aoshi has known Ciel since he was born and was a friend of my husband." At the mention of her departed spouse, the barest twitch of her lips called humanity to the Marchioness' face for one brief moment before her mouth tightened again and she continued briskly.

"I don't know what Ciel has for you to do, girl, and I won't interfere too much, as long as you act with discretion. But don't forget you have your duties to me too. You will act with propriety and obedience as long as you are under my roof. I suffer neither foolishness nor insolence."

Misao didn't respond. She was already deeply suspecting that the Marchioness was going to be an impossible benefactress, and that feeling was intensified as the peer's eyes swept her critically.

"I will turn you into a proper lady, girl, you mark my words. And it begins now. Sit up!" the woman rapped out, her words sharp and piercing. "A lady never lets her back touch a chair! Slouching like that shows weakness of character. Sit up, I say!"

Misao obediently lifted her back up and away from the chair, cursing her luck and letting one murderous look escape her eyes before she complied. She had heard the Marchioness was a champion fencer, and Misao toyed with seeing how well the lady could dodge a well-thrown knife. But the carriage had reached their destination and the Marchioness was quickly berating Misao about the proper way to exit a carriage without showing any unseemly display of ankle.

_Perhaps __I __should __have __thought __this __through __a __trifle __more __carefully,_ Misao groaned to herself as she stepped into the street and glumly faced the tall, imposing structure that would be home for the conceivable future. She had visited London on a few occasions before and had found it dirty, noisy, and crowded. _Best __get __used to __it, __I __suppose, _she sighed and began mounting the forbearing stone steps towards the elaborate door.

* * *

><p>"Mr. Darcy is in town, my lord," the butler murmured quietly as he gracefully placed a teacup in his master's hand.<p>

"I trust he has news," the boy lord responded flatly.

"He will make his report soon," Sebastian answered, his long white-gloved fingers busy with the teapot. Silence fell for one long moment, then the butler added with a glimmer of a smile, "Ms. Bennet just arrived in London with the Marchioness."

The young lord nodded sharply, then his face twisted into a thoughtful scowl as Sebastian added, "Ms. Bennet encountered Aoshi on the street. Do you wish for them to know of each other's...involvements in Phantomhive matters?"

"No," Ciel's tone was decisive. He lifted the tea to his lips, the scowl deepening.

Light from the fire threw odd shadows across Sebastian's classically handsome face, lending a sinister cast to it as he responded quietly, "It could be beneficial for them to be aware of each other's actions."

The lord of Phantomhive sniffed. "Aoshi is too much the man of honor. He would not allow any woman to expose herself to the dangers I am involved in. Misao is useful to me. I don't want Aoshi getting in the way." Somewhat sullenly, he added, "Aoshi would give me a lot of grief about it. I'd prefer avoiding one of his lectures."

"I will see to it, my lord," the butler responded, then added with a smile that gleamed like a knife in the dark, "Aoshi Darcy is entangled with much and his eyes miss little. It is entirely possible he will find out on his own."

"Then we will decide what to do then," Ciel commanded, looking pointedly at his empty cup. All grace and elegance, Sebastian moved to fill it, every motion precise and controlled. "Until then, Misao will be our shadow."

The enigmatic smile, sharp as smooth as a dagger, gleamed in the light of the fire under a flash of crimson eyes.

"Yes, my lord."

**Author's note: Here is a writing haiku just for you, my fine readers!**

**Errors dot the page**

**Lazy, lax beta reader**

**Oh wait, that is me. **


	8. High Stakes and Heartaches

Opium smoke hung in hazy clouds, filling the dimly lit room with shadows as vivid-colored gowns and elegant tailcoats swished and swirled in ripples of fabric. Tables were overcrowded with roaring figures, cards and dice scattering like snowflakes as high-pitched laughter broke through the babble of a hundred tongues and mixed with the raucous notes blaring from an enthusiastic music group holding court on a raised stage.

Heart pumping with excitement and lips pursed in a half smile, Misao slipped gracefully through the crowd, her blue eyes sharp and alert behind the black lace mask half-covering her face. Swirls of black satin enveloped her slender frame, gold dangled from her ears and neck, and a fine gold net was woven through her black twists of hair. In her hand was an elaborate gold fan partially obscuring her face as her seeking eyes swept the crowd carefully, searching for someone but careful to avoid the appearance of doing so.

Her quest was not prolonged: through the babble of alcohol-soaked cries, pitched with excitement from the gaming tables at the casino, Misao pinpointed one particular voice and smiled in triumph. _I've found you,_ she thought. _Now, come find me_. Selecting an empty chair at a baccarat table, Misao flashed the dealers what she hoped was a seductive smile and purred in a low, silky drawl, "Care to deal me in, gentlemen?" A flutter of her long lashes was enough; cards instantly appeared in front of her, and Misao pouted prettily while lifting them up in her velvet-gloved fingers.

It was a poor hand, but Sebastian had taught her well and she didn't flinch as the shoe was passed to her. Besides, the cards were merely a ruse to lure her target to her side; Misao's attentions were mainly centered on distilling a certain voice from the mess of others surrounding it and trying to pick up clear words, but the man was too far away for her to distinguish much. Biding her time, she smiled at the dealers again and said smoothly, "Twenty on Banco, please". A dealer whisked her cards away, but Misao was distracted by a sense of movement coming towards her. She smiled to herself. Her quarry was approaching.

Within moments, Misao caught a recognized scent, a harsh musk overlaid with something sharp and acrid, and felt a presence at her side. Body heat invaded her personal space as a voice low in her ear sounded with a chuckle against her skin. "The lady bids high. I took you for a gambler at the first, Madam Noir."

Suppressing a shudder, Misao responded softly, her words husky and alluring. "What is life without a little risk and a bit of speculation?" Shooting a side look up at him through the narrow eye holes in her mask and the long veil of her lashes, she added with a throaty sigh, "Surely a gentleman such as yourself would agree?"

Kanryū laughed again, and Misao could feel the intrigue perking in his voice. With a little smile, she turned her head back to the game, delicately ignoring him and feeling his interest build as her attention was diverted elsewhere. A dealer announced the results, and a stout gentleman with a balding pate to Misao's immediate left won the hand. She fluttered her fan, smiling with graceful chagrin, and then rose smoothly from her chair. "I believe I will fold. Thank you," she announced elegantly, giving Kanryū a mysterious smile before turning as if to go.

A hand lightly touched her upper arm, and she cocked her head gracefully to give Kanryū a cool look, lips pursed alluringly in a gesture of coquettish surprise. His face bent down over hers, his voice low and touched with intimacy. "My dear Madam Noir, I'm afraid I simply cannot let you depart like this," he murmured, eyes intent behind half-closed lids.

"And why is that?" Misao pouted again, tapping Kanryū lightly with her folded-up fan. His fingers were long and rested lightly against her upper arm but through the thin satin fabric of her gown, she could tell that they were soft and uncalloused from lack of hard, honest work. She detested soft hands in a man.

"Because," Kanryū's smile was bordering on a smirk, "As I recall during our first meeting, you disappeared when I went to fetch you a glass of punch. I believe that you owe me a shared drink, my lady."

"My apologizes," Misao laughed lightly and patted her mouth daintily. "I was most unexpectedly called away on a pressing matter."

"Well, then, I shall make certain that no pressing matters trouble you this evening so that I may have the pleasure of your full attention," Kanryū smiled and tucked Misao's arm inside his while quickly lifting two champagne flutes off a passing tray in one swift movement. Misao did not like at all the fact that her hand was resting in the crook of his arm, but she allowed Kanryū to steer her through the crowded room out onto a balcony where he shut the door behind them with a smirk and escorted Misao towards an elegant divan.

Misao lowered herself to the cushioned seat and languidly stretched her slender frame across the divan, careless enough to be alluring but not overtly so. Kanryū's smirk deepened as he placed a champagne flute in her palm, cupping his other hand around hers as if to make certain she had grasped hold of it firmly. Misao was thankful for the black velvet gloves protecting her skin from his touch, but she lifted the flute to her lips and took a small sip. Champagne did funny things to her brain, and she hoped that Kanryū wouldn't keep pressing alcohol on her.

It was a surprisingly clear night, the moon sharp and full and a million stars glittering in the sky like shattered diamonds against black velvet. Kanryū ignored the scenery, his back to the city as he leaned against the carved wooden parapet, his eyes never leaving Misao as she sipped daintily at the champagne.

After a moment, he spoke with a laugh, "I am sorry that business called you away from my side so quickly at the dance. With a lady as beautiful as yourself, you should have nothing more pressing to worry about than deciding which dress is most worthy of your lovely frame."

Misao gave a gentle giggle and fluttered her fan. "You flatter me, sir. But cannot a lady have...outside interests to wile away the hours?" She gave him a significant look under the heavy fringe of her lashes.

Kanryū lifted his flute to his lips. "Dancing, music, and card-playing are not sufficient entertainment for you?"

"Not precisely," Misao responded, then paused significantly before continuing in a slightly cautious tone. "At times, I prefer activities of...oh, shall we say, a more speculative nature."

The sharp glint was back in Kanryū's narrowed eyes, and Misao could see his mind churning furiously behind the orbs. Finally he spoke quietly, "London, no doubt, provides you ample opportunity for activities of a speculative nature."

"If one knows where to look," Misao pronounced with a soft, low murmur, not meeting his eyes as she sipped from the flute again. "Or whom to seek."

Kanryū was silent for a moment, then continued in the same casual tone she was using, unspoken words hanging thick in the air. "There are many in London who would be delighted to entertain such as lady as yourself," he said significantly.

"Perhaps," Misao smiled mysteriously. Dropping her voice low and fighting to keep it even, she questioned, "I wonder, Mr. Takeda, if you have ever heard of a certain Qing Bang Lau?" The name of the notorious Shanghai Mafia leader on her lips, Misao knew the game had just taken a sharp turn into very dangerous waters. Lau was officially the president of the British branch of a Chinese trading company, but his real work involved a certain Lady Blanc, a type of opium that was said to be as strong and addictive as Black Pearl. Lau and Kanryū were mortal business enemies, both intent on crushing the other out of existence, and mentioning Lau's name around Kanryū could not fail to capture his attention.

Counting on the lace mask to half-hide her expression, Misao lifted her eyes to Kanryū's and saw a fleeting but forceful expression charge across his face before he quickly smothered it with a partial smile.

His voice ringing with casualness, Kanryū responded lightly. "Perhaps I have." There was wariness in his tones and his eyes were suddenly piercing, but she saw his glance sharpen as the thrill of the game clamored for attention in his veins.

Misao willed her pulse to slow down, feeling adrenaline coursing through her head to toe. Negotiations were going to be extremely delicate at this point, and Kanryū was obviously on guard, intrigued by possibilities but keen for any hint of danger. It was a dangerous game, but so far she had kept her hand hidden and had continued to lure him forward one step at a time.

Carefully, Misao paused for a moment, alert for Kanryū's energy. He cloaked his emotions well, but she could sense the intrigue and thrill steadily building in him along with careful wariness. After a long moment or two, he inquired lightly, "The lady is acquainted with Mr. Lau?"

Misao giggled daintily, covering her mouth with a velvet-gloved hand. "Oh, one could say that we are _very good friends_," she emphasized, hoping Kanryū would interpret her words correctly. Then she let her face fall slightly as anger touched the corner of her eyes. "That is, we were until that little _hussy_..." she breathed out hotly as she began briskly fanning herself, letting the accessory spell out her wrath as her full mouth twisted tightly. Misao let the heated emotions slip out for a few moments, then made a show of reining them back in as Kanryū observed her narrowly.

"I believe you would be referring to Ran-Mao, am I correct?" he responded quietly. Misao bit her lip and gave a curt nod, sensing herself slipping so far into her character that she actually felt angry and indignant, mirroring the emotions a scorned mistress would experience when she was abruptly replaced. Kanryū continued to observe Misao with watchful eyes as she made a show out of trying to seize control of her feelings. She thought briefly about daubing away an invisible tear but decided it would be too dramatic.

"Apparently my charms and usefulness to him have worn thin," she continued with the same tight, angry expression, keeping her words hard but measured.

"It is a fool of a man who would grow weary of your charms, my lady," Kanryū responded with a chivalrous smile. Coming to her side, he lifted one of her hands in both of his, all gentleness and comfort but Misao knew it was an act. She had not said plenty, but Kanryū had clearly picked up on all her unstated words and was positively aglow with possibilities. Although he did a better than average job of hiding his energy, she could surmise what he was pondering: the chance to use Madam Noir's hurt anger and knowledge of Lau's business endeavors to destroy a bitter rival.

Fingers stroked the back of Misao's hand in a gesture that was unmistakably seductive, and she amplified her original thought by mentally adding, _Plus the chance to extract further revenge by stealing away Lau's former mistress. _Not that Kanryū had a snowball's chance in the Sahara of doing so, but Misao fully intended to keep Kanryū thinking that such a possibility was wholly probable. Men frequently made dumb decisions when women were concerned and with luck, Kanryū would commit an abundance of them as long as she could steer him in the right direction.

But Kanryū was speaking again, his voice low and soothing, "No man in his right mind would so carelessly toss aside so ravishing a lady. Alas," he sighed dramatically, "There are great fools out there, and too often they are overly careless with female hearts." Misao sniffed and decided a light daub at the corner of her eye would not be amiss. Kanryū still continued to hold her hand as he stated quietly and carefully, "Such actions should not go unpunished. Do you not agree, Madam Noir?"

Misao's blue eyes flashed up at him sharply, then she dropped them to her lap and let her free hand fiddle with the fan resting on her right knee. After a moment or two, she responded with the same careful tone. "Perhaps."

The light caress against the back of her hand increased as Kanryū's fingers began circling around her wrist. Despite herself, Misao could not help a flush of heat from touching her cheeks as something odd twisted in her stomach. Angrily, she forced it away, disgusted with herself.

Kanryū's head dropped low to her ear as his hot breath brushed against her skin, but Misao's nostrils curled at the scent of garlic and strong drink on his tongue. "I think, Madam, that we could be of use to each other. Do you not agree?"

Misao fiddled with the fan again for several long moments, seemingly lost in thought, then drew herself upright and cocked her head to look him in the face. "Yes, I think so, Mr. Takeda," she stated firmly, trying to give off the image of a scorned, indignant woman bent on revenge.

It seemed to convince him because Kanryū laughed lightly and said, "Please, call me Kanryū."

"And I am still Madam Noir. For now," Misao responded smoothly, letting her lashes flutter across her face mysteriously. But Kanryū's smile narrowed and he began staring at her intently, something penetrating in his eye.

With an odd smile, he stated with gentle firmness, "Madam, I would like to request that you remove your mask."

A light laugh pushed up the corner of Misao's lips in efforts to hide a spasm of nervousness. "But why?" she questioned with a flutter of her fan.

"Because I like to see the face of whmoever I do business with, Madam," he answered smoothly. "One can tell so much about a person from their countenance." His smile increased, but there was a glimmer of warning in the curl of his thin lips.

Feeling a trickle of cold sweat appear in the center of her back, Misao responded with a smile. "Very well, if it pleases you." Praying that her actions would not disturb the carefully-positioned makeup coating her face, Misao slowly removed the scrap of lace shielding her features and lifted her countenance up for Kanryū's purveyance. Trying not to smile, she thought of the nearly two hour session under the patient artistry of a theater makeup artist whose skillful shades and artful painting had subtly changed the contours of her face. When the man was finished, Misao had been astonished to see how different she looked in the mirror. It was still her face but her nose was narrower, her cheekbones higher and more prominent, two realistic moles had appeared, and she was far more glamorous and lovely than her bare skin allowed her to be. Never having been accustomed to cosmetics before, Misao was amazed at the different paint could make in disguising a person's appearance.

Dressed in her finery and changed with makeup, Misao was fairly confident that the whole effect was a tolerable disguise. Her father had taught her that a person's walk is as memorable as their face and the entire evening she had adopted a mincing, hip-wriggling walk alien to her normal gait. The gloves covering her hands prevented Kanryū from memorizing their shape, she was speaking in a lower tone than normal, and some strategic padding had lent her cleavage and posterior more volume than nature had granted. All in all, Misao had hopes that should Kanryū accidentally run into her on the street, he would not finger her as the mysterious Madam Noir. If he did, she'd have to do some lightening-fast thinking and talking, but for now it was Madam Noir who was capturing Kanryū's attention.

His eyes were carefully appraising her uncovered face as if searching inside her mind to test her trustworthiness, and Misao forced herself to return his look boldly. After several long moments, Kanryū nodded firmly, the oily smile returning to his face. Bowing slightly, he said, "I look forward to a long and fruitful partnership with you, Madam Noir."

"As do I," Misao replied and rose smoothly to her feet with a little bow of her head. As she moved towards the door, Kanryū's long fingers closed on her wrist with a tad more force than she liked, and a blaze of anger rose to the surface, but she kept it locked away inside. Flipping him over her shoulder onto the floor would completely ruin her disguise and undo the weeks of work she had put into this venture.

"Wait, my lady," Kanryū's voice was low and seductive in her ear again. "Must you leave so soon?"

She smiled and tapped him with her folded-up fan. "Patience, my friend. Have you not heard the saying? Revenge is a dish best served cold."

He smiled back, leaning towards her in a way that pointedly invaded her personal space and sent her knee aching to kick him vigorously in the groin. "And haste makes waste, as they say." Moving back a trifle, he let his hand drop to pick hers up in his long fingers and kiss it gently. "I await your command, my lady."

"It will come. In time," she laughed a low giggle. "Until then," one velvet finger stroked the back of his hand that was still cradling hers in its grasp. "I will say goodbye for now." Skillfully, Misao slipped free of Kanryū and artfully disappeared behind the closed door, leaving the man alone on the balcony while her nerves coursed with triumph and adrenaline.

The casino was roaring with excitement and alcohol-induced merriment as Misao glided across the floor, practically floating with relief and grateful for the shadowy corners that allowed her to slip away from the chaos unseen. Out into a murky hallway, her feet soon took her a quiet room, dark except for a sliver of moonlight which shown through a gap in the curtains and fell across a tall, black-clothed figure waiting for her.

"Madam Noir," the silken voice rose up but Misao was too alert and pulsing to feel affected by it. He continued, "You were not followed. However, I would advise you to act quickly."

Nodding, Misao ordered hastily, "Sebastian, turn around." The butler obligingly turned his back to her as she quickly yanked at the skirt around her waist, separating the elaborate garment from her bodice by undoing two hidden buttons and pulling the skirt away to reveal the lower half of her ninja uniform underneath. Kicking the voluminous skirt and several petticoats aside, Misao momentarily spasmed at the realization that she was undressing in the full presence of a male, even if his back was to her and she was still clothed underneath her gown. Still...shaking the thought loose, Misao turned her attention to the tight, low-cut bodice. The long row of buttons running up the back defied her attempts at wriggling loose, so with a shrug of her shoulders, she grabbed the back of the bodice and yanked hard, ripping it off. She wasn't about to ask Sebastian to unbutton it for her, even if that mean ruining the garment. The Phantomhive manor was certainly rich enough to deal with its loss.

Buttons flew as the tight garment slithered to the ground and Misao gratefully reached for the damned corset which had been tormenting her with its steel embrace all night. However, as her hands reached behind her back for her corset lacing, they encountered a Gregorian knot of such bewildering complexity that after several moments' struggle, she exhaled in frustration.

Sebastian's silken voice reached out from the dark, "Perhaps, my lady, you would accept my assistance..."

"No!" Misao exploded in a hushed yell, then reached for the _kunai_ strapped to her thigh. Two slashes and the severed undergarment twanged off, sending Misao diving for the upper half of her ninja outfit which had been tucked into a clever pouch sewn inside the elaborate skirt along with leather slippers to replace the high-heeled shoes she was wearing. Blushing furiously, she thought fleetingly how leaving the casino as she had arrived, properly dressed and inside a carriage, would have been preferable to stripping in front of Sebastian. But her employer had been insistent that she and Sebastian sneak out, and she wasn't about to go galloping across a roof in a long skirt.

"_Once you make contact with Kanryū and convince him to take you into his confidence, he'll want to have you followed," the young earl had stated flatly. "Kanryū's no fool and being a crook himself, he's always alert for a bad business deal. Rest assured that even if he is completely enraptured with you, he will constantly be evaluating how much he can trust you. He will be wary of complete disclosure all at once. This will take time. For now, I prefer that he not have any clues as to where you live or have any way of contacting you save what we arrange. This means assuring that one of his many employees doesn't follow you home from the casino." _

In a twinkling, Misao had pulled on her top and replaced her shoes. Hastily stripping the gold off her hair, ears, and neck, she quickly tucked the jewelry in a pocket and bundled her fine clothing up. It made a large mound in her arms. "Ready," she called to Sebastian, thankful that she could finally breath and move easily again without the blasted corset forcing her ribs into her lungs. Sebastian turned around, assessing her in one quick glance, and nodded. With a smooth movement, the butler pulled back the velvet curtain and silently pushed the window open.

"I will take these, my lady," Sebastian gracefully removed the clothing bundle from Misao's arms and bowed elegantly, indicating the now-open window. "After you." Misao stepped up to the still and quickly grabbed a finger hold, swinging out into the star-lit night. Nimble as a monkey, she scaled the side of the building, dangling dozens of feet off the ground as she scurried up the wall and towards the top, intent on cresting the roof. Sebastian followed, managing to climb effortlessly despite one arm occupied with holding Misao's discarded clothing.

At the apex of the roof, they both crouched, eyes intent on the glittering city spread out before them. Turning to Misao, the butler smiled in what could possibly be construed as a challenging smirk, a gleam of red in his eye. "We must be hasty, my lady, if we are to avoid detection. I ask that you stay close to me as we move. Are you ready?"

Misao nodded sharply and suddenly Sebastian shot across the roof like a cat, seeming to defy gravity and leaving her with a very definite feeling that he was deliberately challenging her mettle. And challenge he did. Misao had spent plenty of time following her father across various high buildings, but Sebastian moved like a vapor as if determined to outrun her, and she could barely keep up. Only by throwing herself recklessly into the chase, intent on copying every one of his movements and heedless to any protests from her brain complaining that she was going much too fast much too high and much too dangerously was she able to keep the butler in her sights. They leaped from building to building, Sebastian seemingly finding toeholds on sheer walls while Misao followed, scrabbling over roof slates, slipping on pigeon droppings, her breath hot and panting in her throat. It was, in short, dangerous reckless and foolish, and Misao reveled in every heart-stopping, terror-filled moment.

With a last thump, it was over: their feet had landed them on the roof of the Marchioness' elegant quarters and Misao was, for lack of better words, home again. Sighing over her exhausted pants for breath, she looked at her companion and said reluctantly, "Thank you for your assistance, Sebastian. I suppose I should go back inside."

A courtly bow and cool fingers, their touch palpable through his thin white gloves, lifted her hand. "Until tomorrow, my lady," the butler replied and in an instant was gone.

Misao sighed again and winced as the after effects of her hazardous journey began making themselves known rather loudly. A cramped calf muscle, a scraped knee, and a jammed finger seemed to be the total collateral damage, all easily hidden and nothing serious. Limping a trifle, Misao let herself in through the roof door via a small key tucked in her clothing and stepped quietly down the steps. With luck, the household would all be asleep as the night was turning to very early morning and hopefully...

"And just _what_ does my nephew mean with keeping you out at all hours, girl?" a strident, demanding voice nearly knocked Misao off her feet as she spun around to see the Marchioness bearing down on her, an exquisite blue satin dressing gown imperially wrapped around her imposing frame and her long blond hair in a thick braid down her back.

Misao stiffed, gulping back a shriek of panic. Despite her best effects, the Marchioness was still able to make her house guest automatically jump to attention and during the times Misao had been in her presence, the titled peer had ridden herd on her new protegee with grim enthusiasm, criticizing every move.

Luckily, the Phantomhive lord required most of Misao's waking hours and the bulk of her days and evenings were spent in his and Sebastian's presence, both males busy stuffing her head with a nonstop stream of information. Misao was now in possession of far more knowledge about opium, crime gangs, business deals, and the seedy side of London than she cared to think, but she knew that the data would keep her alive and help her procure what her employer wanted. Just prepping for the casino night had taken three weeks, and preliminary work had started almost as soon as she and the Marchioness had shown up in London. During those three weeks, there had been much visiting back and forth between the Phantomhive and Milford households, outwardly as social calls but in reality as endless training sessions for Misao.

Her prep work wasn't limited to just the two noble households: more than once Sebastian had taken her out for a mad dash across the city to check her agility and a night's shadow trip had brought her into the bowels of an opium den itself to meet with Lau, Misao's purported former lover. Sitting amidst the clouds of opium and scantily clad Chinese girls, she had been instructed to carefully memorize a sufficient amount of facts to make their supposed relationship sound plausible and to absorb knowledge about Lau's business practices that Kanryū would find useful.

Long hours of endless drilling left little time for Misao to be exposed to the plots of the Marchioness, but she had to put up a convincing front to the world and play the part of a genteel lady under the tutelage of a benevolent peer. Whenever she could pull Misao away from her training, the Marchioness regularly carted her exhausted protegee off to various events, parties, galleries, and other entertainments suitable of a proper lady all the while constantly criticizing the younger woman's every move. Misao bore up under it as best she could, wondering how anyone could accuse ladies of being delicate and frail when the training required to become a proper one was unbearably rigorous and exhausting. Ciel and Sebastian's training was equally brutal but it had a purpose: keeping her alive and useful to the earl. In contrast, knowing the exact angle to hold a teapot and how to properly wield a pair of asparagus tongs was useless to the point of madness.

In the midst of the demands of both benefactor and employer, Misao was surprised to find that Aoshi Darcy was quickly becoming an almost daily feature in the Marchioness' household. True to his word, he had arrived the next day at a proper visiting hour and had conversed politely with the peer, Misao, and Elizabeth before taking his leave with a bow. Misao had been surprised by his visit and even more puzzled when it was repeated the next day and the next until she grew to expect it. Even more astonishing was the fact that, as the days passed, Misao found herself starting to look forward to the gentleman's daily visits. Mr. Aoshi Darcy was indeed proud as she had suspected but repeated exposure to him was slowly revealing that he could also be polite and courtly when it suited him and there was sharp intelligence burning behind his cool blue eyes. In efforts to amuse herself and provoke her visitor, Misao found herself constantly sparring verbally with him, but he fielded her attacks with a deft swiftness that intrigued her almost as much as it irked.

Rather alarmingly, Misao began to find herself gradually developing an attachment to the gentleman that puzzled her to no end, much as she tried to fight it off. One day during her second week in London, Aoshi missed his morning visit, and Misao found herself a little disappointed when he did not appear. It really was quite unsettling that Aoshi was steadily making himself a welcome presence in the house, and she wondered if his absence that day would be repeated the next.

Aoshi, however, appeared at his normal time the next day and he was accompanied by no other than Mr. Yahiko Bingley who apparently was in town. Surprised to see the new arrival, Misao offered her hand to the younger gentleman and tried to cover up her confusion with a smile. "What a surprise, Mr. Bingley! I did not know that you were in town!" she exclaimed. As her blue eyes fell on him, Misao noticed that Yahiko's normally cheerful face was dimmed and his smile seemed forced.

Bowing over Misao's hand, he responded, "Yes, I am in town for the future, Ms. Bennet. My sister wanted to return to town, so here we are."

Keeping the smile to hide the frown itching to manifest on her forehead, Misao seated herself, chewing worriedly over her thoughts as she tried to play the part of a gracious host. Her last letter from her mother had assured her that Yahiko was still a constant presence around the Bennet household and that the matron of the estate fully expected an engagement in the next few weeks. While Misao was well-aware of her mother's tendency to exaggerate, Riko's letter had come on the heels of one from Tsubame, cheerful and pleasant and full of kind praises of Yahiko. Misao had put both letters aside, confident that the next one she received from home would be full of news about Tsubame's upcoming wedding, but the presence of the purported groom-to-be in London belied that expectations. Yahiko had not mentioned business or any pressing reason he had left Tsubame's side, and Misao found it hard to believe that he would have abruptly quitted the country without a good reason.

Keeping her voice even, Misao questioned. "Is my family well? I regularly receive letters from them, but the post is slower than I like."

A shadow fell over Yahiko's face, and he seemed to struggle to respond evenly. "Yes, when I last saw them, your mother and sisters were in excellent health. I am happy to report that your father continues to recover."

Misao rubbed a thumb against her knee absentmindedly, trying to formulate a reason for this unexpected turn of events. Had a quarrel separated Tsubame and Yahiko? But the young gentleman quickly switched topics as the conversation moved to different matters, and Misao could see no opening for a delicate inquiry into the subject. After an hour or so, the gentlemen left with the matter still hanging in the air, and Misao could not push the questions from her mind despite the multitude of distractions which descended upon her once the social hour was over. As preparations for her upcoming escapades at the casino intensified, the worrying situation with Tsubame and Yahiko kept hanging heavily on Misao's mind.

Two days before the casino, a letter arrived from Tsubame which intensified her worry. Despite her sister's attempts to be cheerful, Misao easily detected sadness running through the letter as Tsubame reported the sudden absence of Yahiko from the countryside. He had simply announced via letter that he would be removing to London for the foreseeable future and had given no reason as to why. He hadn't even had the courtesy to visit the Bennets to bid his farewell.

"_I trust that business matters called him away," Tsubame had written, "but as much as I hate to think ill of him, I fear that perhaps my beliefs in his affections for me have been misguided. I received a letter from Yumi Bingley yesterday that stated she and her brother left the country and do not expect to return for quite some time. I am afraid that the contents of the letter do not leave me great hope that Yumi Bingley cares much for my affection of her brother. You may read it to tell me if perhaps I have misinterpreted it."_

Misao quickly perused the enclosed missive, the thin white paper covered with Yumi's elegant hand, but she could read poison embedded in the very ink. Despite the flowery words and protestations of affection, the message distilled was this: _My brother and I are leaving the country and we are not coming back. Don't expect to see us again. Leave him alone. _Clenching the letter in her fist, Misao growled at the memory of the sneering woman who had penned it. She had never liked Yumi much, and it has been clear that Yumi was less than pleased with the idea of her brother marrying a woman of lower class and lighter pocket than himself. It seems that the elder sister had gotten her way and taken her darling brother far from the clutches of someone she deemed unworthy.

Misao was still chewing over this issue and mentally composing a comforting reply to her sister when a friend of the Marchioness arrived at the house the next day for a visit, a Colonel Fitzgerald who was florid, white-haired gentleman in his fifties. He was affable and courtly, and Misao took a liking to him almost instantly. The Marchioness was currently out of the house, but Misao was glad to entertain the visitor in the peer's absence.

Taking a cup of tea from Misao, the Colonel said genially, " I understand from your estimable patroness that a particularly fine gentleman has been visiting here almost daily, a Mr. Aoshi Darcy."

Despite herself, Misao blushed and her hand trembled, sending the teacup in her hand shaking so much that she was afraid she would drop the fine china. Forcing herself to respond lightly, she said, "Oh yes, he usually visits the Marchioness in the morning."

The colonel gave her a knowing smile that deepened her blush as he responded kindly, "Aoshi Darcy is a fine gentleman, one of the best I have met. I've been acquainted with him for years and can testify to his impeachable character. He takes particular care of his young friend, Mr. Yahiko Bingley who is surely greatly indebted to the gentleman's guidance and care."

"Yes, I am acquainted with Mr. Bingley. He is a friend of the family," Misao responded, cursing her trembling fingers which were in danger of betraying her.

Seemingly oblivious to his hostess' inner conflict, the Colonel reached for a spoon and kept speaking in cheerful tones. "Darcy is a man that is watchful and careful of those he calls his friends. In fact, he told me himself that he recently prevented a certain friend of his from making a most imprudent match with an unsuitable young woman. Although I am not positive who it is, I suspect that the friend in question is Bingley. He's the type of fellow to get himself into a bit of a scrape with a young woman. Lucky for him, he has a wise friend and is humble enough to listen to sound advice."

Shock and anger punched Misao in the gut with the force of a boxer's fist, and she quickly turned away to fuss with the teapot, hiding her expression. She could scarcely believe his ears, but the information was wholly probable. With Aoshi's pride and consciousness of position, she wouldn't put it past him to do something like this. The steadily growing affection for the gentleman that had been building in Misao swiftly vanished as she stood there, gripping the teapot and struggling to hold back the screams of anger building up inside her. _That bastard_, she growled to herself as she thought of how confused and hurt Tsubame must be right now. And all because of some meddling, pompous...

Colonel Fitzgerald was slurping tea, happily blind to the storm building behind Misao's eyes, and it took all her training to strangle her emotions so that she could present an outwardly tranquil face. Only when she trusted her voice to be steady did she respond. "What were his objections to the lady?"

The Colonel took a hearty drink of tea. "I believe that there was strong doubts to the level of the lady's affection for the friend in question. Darcy carefully observed the couple but did not see clear evidence that the young woman had true feelings for his friend."

Misao stopped herself in time before she broke out into a loud protestation. _Wait. Listen. Calm down,_ she told herself firmly.

"Fact is," Misao's guest continued, completely unaware of the furious battle Misao was raging within herself to keep her temper under control. "If it's Bingley that Darcy is talking about, the young man is in possession of a large fortune. As such, he is easy prey for any woman seeking a rich husband. Darcy cares for his friend and wants him settled in a suitable marriage where there is genuine affection on both sides. So I assume that he strongly counseled Bingley against the match, and the young man was wise enough to take the advice."

Most fortunately, the sudden arrival of the Marchioness diverted attention away from Misao, giving her time to better rein in her emotions and present a calm, smooth face to her patroness. The woman seated herself properly and demanded a cup of tea, berating Misao the entire time for how she poured it as the Marchioness turned to her friend with a question.

As Misao carefully poured the tea and placed it in her patroness' hand, she kept a pleasant smile on her face but inwardly, her blood clamored for revenge. _You will regret this, Aoshi Darcy,_ Misao promised herself grimly. _I will see to it personally. _

**Author's note: I am fully aware that the makeup available during Victorian times was likely not advanced enough to create the contouring effect Misao received. However, they did have makeup back them and it is possible that a good artist who worked with theater people could pull off an effect like this. We'll pretend that it's possible. Anywhoo, read and review please! This was a long but fun chapter and it should be mostly danger and excitement from here on out! **


	9. Secret Confessions

**Sorry it has been so long; my life has been inordinately busy! But here is a chapter at last, thanks for waiting.**

Misao's vow of swift, painful revenge against Aoshi Darcy was somewhat delayed by the casino the next day and further hampered by Phantomhive meddling in the aftermath of her success with Kanryū. Pleased with his employee's work, the young earl had made a rather startling announcement two days after Misao's second encounter with their target.

"Kanryū's no fool," Ciel stated flatly to Misao as he lifted the fine bone china teacup to his lips. The two were sitting in the earl's elegant drawing room and Sebastian was serving them tea with his normal grace. "Although you have done a fine job capturing his interest, he will not let emotion overtake reason. Believe me, he will constantly be evaluating how much he can trust you and even more so," the exposed blue eye fixed on Misao intently, "how much he can manipulate you into benefiting him. To Kanryū, people are merely pawns to be used." Pausing for a moment, the earl scowled darkly. "You would be wise never to forget that, Misao."

_Gee, being manipulated by someone who sees other people only as pawns,_ Misao thought sarcastically. _It's not like __that's__ an entirely novel experience for me. _The barest puff of a snort escaped her lips at the thought, and the sound of it made Ciel's face harden a trifle as his eyebrow twitched, but he said nothing. Placing the teacup down with a tad more force than needed, the young lord continued.

"Kanryū is no doubt investigating you to see if your story is true. While Sebastian and I have been laying down some foundations, Madam Noir is still, at this moment, an enigma. She must be brought out of the shadows and have substance, otherwise Kanryū will not trust her."

Misao pondered this for a moment over a bite of cake. Back at home, Okina had kept her running around enough that despite how much Misao ate, Riko was always bemoaning how skinny her second oldest daughter was. In London, Ciel and Sebastian were keeping Misao occupied enough with cerebral challenges but physical activity was not as forthcoming as it had been and surprisingly abundant curves were beginning to creep up on her willowy frame, much to her delight. Misao put it down to a less rigorous lifestyle plus the abundance of French pastries Sebastian kept pushing on her, and she was quietly pleased with her increased assets.

Chewing the delicate chocolate torte, Misao questioned, "What did you have in mind?" She had long ceased to be fairly formal with the earl in private and had discovered that as long as she didn't take too many liberties, he overlooked her occasional lapses into casualness.

The young lord laced his fingers together in front of his face, and Misao saw the gesture she was growing accustomed to experiencing: a finger thoughtfully rubbing the ornate blue ring on his thumb. It meant that Ciel was deep in thought or troubled by something, but his young face was calm as usual.

To Misao's surprise, her employer turned the question back on her. "I'm more interested in your ideas. What say you?" A thin smile of challenge rose on his lips as his one eye gazed at her coolly.

Misao didn't demure as Sebastian placed another slice of the exquisite torte in front of her. The butler had long sussed out her weakness for sweets and pressed rich pastries and desserts upon her whenever he could. Poking the fresh piece with a fork, Misao began thinking out loud.

"I've been around town long enough that were I to suddenly disappear, it would look strange," she began slowly. "In fact, it is probably best if I continue...Well, perhaps..." Misao stopped talking for a few minutes, substituting speech for a few more bites of cake as her mind tossed ideas about.

Finally, a reasonable ruse came to mind, and she nodded approvingly. "An illness, I think, would be the best excuse. I've suddenly come down with something serious and need a lot of rest and recuperation. This will prevent me from needing to be out in the public eye much."

Ciel nodded. "It's a start. Continue."

Misao forked another piece of torte and kept thinking. "The Marchioness should conveniently have a relative or friend with a sickly daughter," she added slowly. "It is decided that bringing the invalids for a bathing cure at the seaside would be helpful. This way I can be absent from London but return if I need to."

"And?" the earl questioned. "Think carefully of all avenues you must consider."

Misao twisted her lips thoughtfully. "Madame Noir is the type of woman to live independently. Her husband was wealthy and recently left her a young widow, and she has the means to live comfortably on her own."

"Yet no one in London knows about her," the Phantomhive lord pressed. "How will you explain Madam Noir's sudden entrance into London in a way that amply explains for her relationship with Lau?"

Misao nodded, thinking hard, then inspiration hit again. "She and her husband were stationed in China for several years. Lau made a trip to China where he encountered Madam Noir and they began their...ah, relationship." A blush rose to her cheeks as she said the words but she plunged ahead doggedly. "And...it happened before her husband died. I think something scandalous like that would appeal to Kanryū." Fleetingly, Misao recoiled at the thought of how much of a scarlet woman she was painting her alias out to be, but the new world she was slowly worming her way into was neither moral nor restrained: making a virtue out of a vice was likely going to be a fairly common occurrence in the future.

Continuing, Misao added fresh ideas. "When Lau returned to England, he and Madam Noir corresponded frequently, and when her husband died, the young widow became part of Lau's business, heavily investing her husband's money and managing Lau's Chinese contacts for him."

The slight smile of approval on Ciel's face encouraged her and Misao hurried forward, her voice rising in in triumph. "Not long ago, Madam Noir moved to England to be with Lau, but soon upon arrival she discovered that he had taken a new mistress and Madam Noir was of no further interest to him. Although she is still comparatively wealthy, she has lost much of her fortune to Lau and had no legal recourse to recoup it. She is furious and hurt and seeking revenge."

"Good," Ciel permitted himself a rare word of praise. "You thought through issues well and I will admit that your plan is slightly better than the one Sebastian and I created. It will be done." Dusting his hands off firmly, the young lord pronounced, "I will speak with my aunt and we will lay the foundation for your illness and subsequent rest cure. In the meanwhile, Madam Noir will have private quarters commissioned for her. For now, she has been discretely living at the Savory under an assumed name. Sebastian and I have seen to it that such a person exists with a record should Kanryū begin investigating. Once Misao Bennet has left London, Madam Noir may begin making a permanent appearance."

Misao nodded, shooting one quick longing glance at the remains of the torte resting on the tea tray, but resisted the urge to ask for more. _At this rate, I'm going to become fat and won't be able to run across roofs anymore, _she cautioned herself and pulled her eyes away from the treat. _Hopefully being Madam Noir will require a lot more exercise than I've been getting lately. _With that hopeful thought, Misao pulled herself to her feet, pondering what dread illness would be best suited for her new disguise.

* * *

><p>The earl of Phantomhive was quick but exacting, meticulously laying down the foundation needed for the next stage of their endeavor as Misao settled into her new task of becoming a convincing invalid. It wasn't easy for she was inordinately healthy and vigorous, and her new duties required entirely too much languishing around the house and looking appropriately pale and wan whenever callers dropped by. The Marchioness did her part by ordering an endless succession of doctors to the house and fussing over Misao in an imperial, forthright manner whenever there was someone around to witness it. The ruse worked and soon word spread in genteel circles that the Marchioness' new protegee was wasting away from some dread illness.<p>

Misao had a hard time putting up a convincing sickly front around guests and an even harder time around doctors. Medicine men came and poked and asked questions, and Misao did her best to answer weakly and cough as much as she could. It nearly drove her crazy to do so and she was highly suspicious that she was wholly failing to convince, but a word from the Marchioness strangely put her at ease.

"You won't be the first healthy female to put on airs of sickness, girl," the peer had pronounced with a sniff one day as yet another doctor had departed the town home, clutching a hefty fee and leaving behind a collection of noxious potions Misao had no intention of taking. "There are plenty of women making a career out of being fashionably invalid. Even if the doctors suspect there is nothing wrong with you, they will happily take their fees and keep quiet. You have nothing to worry about."

However, Misao did have to worry about the steady stream of letters coming from home anxiously inquiring about her health. She tried to answer them as well as she could, assuring Tsubame that a visit London to attend Misao's health was unnecessary and soothing Riko by promising that a rest cure at the sea would soon set her right. But it was difficult maintaining the aura of a sick person without causing the Bennet family undue anxiety.

Even less easy was answering the missives written in Okina's shaky hand, the irregular lettering quiet testimony to the fact that he had still not fully recovered. Her father's letters were sharper, laced with heavy concern and the merest touch of suspicion that there was far more happening to his daughter than she let on. Finally, Misao resorting to finishing a letter to her father with a postscript in the code they had devised together. In translation, it said,_ I am fine. Please do not worry. Take care of Mother and the girls and I will return as soon as I can. _In retrospect, Misao suspected that the postscript would agitate her father more than it would assure him and she was half-worried that he would come storming into London intent on discovering what she had entangled herself in. To ward Okina off, Misao had been very clear in her letter that she would soon be leaving for the sea with Lady Catherine de Bourgh, a close friend of the Marchioness, and her daughter Anne who was actually sickly, providing excellent cover for Misao. Hopefully the news would stay Okina's hand and keep him away from London.

The letter seemed to do the trick, for Okina did not materialize and plans for Misao's departure moved forward without hindrance. Whenever everything was properly settled, Misao Bennet would be leaving London with Lady Catherine and Miss Anne. Soon after that, Madam Noir would take up residence in her newly commissioned quarters and immerse herself fully in whatever the earl of Phantomhive had in store for her.

_Fine. As long as I can stop pretending to be weak and sick, _Misao thought longingly one day as she rested her back against a silk cushion in the Marchioness's sitting room, doing her best to appear pale and delicate-looking while three regally dressed matrons fussed over her and gabbled in voices like a flock of arguing chickens. Misao had long forgotten who the three visitors were, some friends of the Marchioness and likely possessing long titles of some sort, and the women were gossiping happily about Misao as if she was not actually present in the room. Misao ignored them, focusing on carefully lifting a teacup to her lips as if it took all her strength and letting her mind wander as it may.

Strange at how often it wandered to thoughts of Mr. Darcy, and each recollection made her want to fling the teacup at the wall and go storming off to hunt the bastard down to kill him. However, the space of more than two weeks and a flurry of activities had taken the edge off some of her anger; although Misao was still furious with the man, as time passed, it became more important to correct the situation than kill the one responsible or at least restore Yahiko to Tsubame before Misao stuck a knife between Darcy's ribs and let him bleed out in the streets. But as she fumed and plotted what sort of death best befit the crime against her sister, Colonel Fitzgerald's words kept circling around her head and refusing to be pushed aside. Again and again, Misao heard his utterance in her mind: _Darcy cares for his friend and wants him settled in a suitable marriage where there is genuine affection on both sides. _

Every recollection made Misao shake her head and growl under her breath. _Mr. Bingley __would__ have been settled in a marriage with genuine affection on both sides if Darcy possessed the brains of a kumquat and a pair of eyes. _Misao knew that Tsubame was quiet and restrained and was not a person to be overtly demonstrative of her affection, but still. _How could any reasonably intelligent person who had spent more than three minutes in the company of Yahiko and Tsubame have doubted in __any__ way... _

But Misao's natural sense of fairness and justice quietly demanded their due and much as she hated to admit it, she could not fault, however grudgingly, Aoshi's concern for his friend, although she highly suspected that the man's real motivation for driving a wedge between the couple had been because Tsubame was poor and Yahiko rich. But if the Colonel had been right and Aoshi's main objection had been a lack of perceived interest on Tsubame's part, he was quite, quite wrong. Misao had zero doubt as to her sister's genuine affection for Yahiko, and she intended to correct Aoshi on this point. Loudly. Preferably with something sharp and pointy in hand. And then followed by murder for one and tea after that.

But the gentleman in question must have sensed his impending doom, for he conveniently disappeared from London. The day after Colonel Fitzgerald's visit, Misao received a short letter from Aoshi informing her that business had most unexpectedly called him away from the city. Furiously, she balled the letter up and threw it in the fire, incised that her plans for revenge had been thwarted and the culprit had escape unscathed. In the ensuring weeks, sundry events unfolded that kept Misao occupied and wore away some of her ire, but a deep grudge lodged itself in her breast and refused to be dislodged. After Colonel Fitzgerald had left the house, all strangely warm feelings that had been growing inside Misao regarding Aoshi Darcy vanished, shoved aside violently by a mortal determination to hate him until the bitter end and never forgive him for his grievous sins against her sister.

Which is why Mr. Darcy's proposal to Misao came at a complete and utter shock.

Blinking her eyes several time as his words clanged violently around inside her head, Misao uttered with complete bewilderment and incredulousness, "I beg your pardon, sir, but what exactly did you just say?"

Aoshi Darcy's face was strangely animated as he stood in the Marchioness's elegant parlor, peering down his considerable height at Misao who was reclining on the divan, fighting madly to keep up her persona as a weak, sickly creature and doing a wholly terrible job of it. After three weeks of no communication whatsoever between the two, Aoshi had caught Misao completely off guard; one minute she had been lounging in the parlor, bored out of her mind, when the gentleman had appeared at the open door, unannounced and eyes filled with a strange concern and something she couldn't quite identify but sent her senses flaring up in alarm. Unaware that Aoshi had returned to London, Misao grimly bit back the sudden, overwhelming urge to throw the nearest heavy object at his head and forced herself to be calm and face him squarely.

Those blue eyes, normally icy and calm, were filled with a strange fire as Aoshi bowed (rather awkwardly, Misao thought) and began making anxious inquires about her health while staring at her intently. She did her best to respond as fitting someone reputed to be ill, but her visitor was more animated that Misao had ever seen before and that made keeping up her act inordinately difficult. As the seconds ticked away, the normally perfectly controlled gentleman was uncharacteristically agitated and seemingly could not decide if he should sit or stand nor determine quite what he wanted to do with his hands. Misao herself was swiftly pondering exactly how she wanted to accuse him of his great error and demand retribution – the perfectly planned, cunningly biting speech she had concocted over long weeks of careful consideration had suddenly fled her mind, and she was greatly agitated herself by the strange tremble fluttering in her belly.

As the painful seconds limped by with glacial slowness, several long ones of excruciating silence passed while both parties darted strange glances at each other and Aoshi continued to pace the room restlessly, alternating rapidly between sitting and standing every two seconds and taking up far more space in the parlor than he had a right to commandeer. Finally, he drew himself up and let loose a string of words Misao had never, ever expected that he would even consider uttering.

"I have struggled in vain to suppress my feelings, but I can do so no longer. I will give them voice," Aoshi began hurriedly but firmly, his fiery blue eyes boring into Misao's intently. Without further ado, he stated with simple, painful clarity, "I must, and I will, express how deeply I admire and love you."

Aoshi's words crashed against Misao's befuddled, astonished mind with all the force of a typhoon, and her brain clamored in alarm, striving weakly to deny the truth of what was just taking place but he gave her no pause to consider. Seemingly set upon a fixed path, he was plunging ahead, determined to continue this insensible madness and seemingly blind to her feelings on the matter.

His voice rolling with hitherto unknown emotion, Aoshi continued, his eyes flashing strangely and warmth stirring in his tones. "Miss Bennet, I well know the misfortunes your family has suffered as of late, and now this, to know that your health has become poor and word is spoken in the streets as to how serious your condition is..." He stopped for one moment, eyes never leaving her face, and Misao squirmed under his blazing glare, wishing frantically to be anywhere other than in the parlor.

To Misao's increased agitation, she watched in stupefying shock as the tall man lowered himself to a bended knee, his eyes gazing at her intently. "Although our situations are far removed from each other and I am painfully aware that any alliance between us will be seen by many as foolish at best and reprehensible at worse, I will not be dissuaded, ill-advised as it may be. Ms. Bennet, I beg you to become my wife so that I may care for your health and that your family may rise from its deprivations and..."

"Mr. Darcy!" Misao half-pleaded, half-screamed, rising from the divan with much more strength and speed than an ill person could reasonably muster. Aoshi clearly noted the action for he sprang to his feet, concern written on his face and reaching a hand out to steady her, but Misao jerked herself away from his touch and whirled around to face him, not caring if she was completely blowing her cover as an invalid.

With eyes flashing wildly, Misao felt fury trembling in her veins and she could hardly get the words out through her anger and shock. Calling upon all her training to speak rationally, she threw his words back in his face with barely controlled tones. "Mr. Darcy, I have never sought your regard nor your affection. Both come highly unsought, so my response will be brief. I do not nor never will accept your offer."

Frozen silence, louder than the clanging of bells fell over the room, the very temperature dropping like a stone in water. The warm, animated expression fled Aoshi's face to be replaced by his normal cool, controlled one but a cold anger settled over his frame as he returned her hard look evenly. After several agonizing moments, he spoke. "Then this short, uncivil answer is all I am to expect, Ms. Bennet?" he questioned icily, the corner of his mouth drawing up in anger.

Misao exhaled loudly, biting back the curse words begging to be set free, and answered sharply. "Can you honestly say, sir, that you expect a civil answer when your very words to me have been the opposite of civility? Do you truly believe that I would be compelled to accept you when you deemed a union between us ill-advised and foolish?"

Aoshi's eyes narrowed slightly, but Misao felt battle roaring in her veins and longed deeply to settle the score with a good knife fight. Currently the only weapons she had at her disposal were words, and these she threw liberally and pointedly. "Furthermore, and most importantly, I have no wish to unite myself with the person who was wholly responsible for ruining the happiness of a most beloved sister. I have every reason to hate you for what you have done." Misao's voice cracked slightly at the thought of Tsubame and for one horrid moment feared she would dissolve into tears.

Aoshi was silent for a moment, then responded quietly. "I do not deny that I did everything in my power to separate Yahiko from your sister, and I rejoiced in my success."

"And that is why I have every reason to reject you," Misao spat back, glaring at him with blazing eyes. "You have behaved in a most reprehensible manner towards my sister and have grieved her deeply."

He returned her glance coolly, but Misao could see wounded pride and anger quivering in the icy blue orbs. After a moment, he responded coldly, "And are there further sins you wish to heap upon my head, Ms. Bennet?"

"Yes," Misao pressed ahead, heedless of caution and determined only to wound and insult with whatever was at her disposal. "I have heard rumors, troubling rumors, that you frequent places that no gentleman should go and consort with people of low character and morals." _Shut up Misao, shut up, shut up, you're going to blow your cover!_ her brain yelped frantically but Misao was in an advanced state of high emotion, reason and caution long since pushed aside, and wholly focused on cutting Aoshi down as soundly as she could.

The words struck hard, Misao could see it, and Aoshi could not disguise the surprise and something possibly like suspicion that raced across his countenance for a brief moment before he smoothed it aside for his normal controlled demeanor. Several more painfully quiet moments passed, and Misao was aware that she was breathing as if she had just finished a race. Aoshi stood like a stone, his hard eyes gazing at her, and his energy coiled and dark with emotion.

Finally, Aoshi spoke, his words harsh and acrid. "These are heavy charges you lay upon me, madam."

"Yes, I will lay them upon you, Mr. Darcy, and I will state this," Misao pronounced strongly, drawing her diminutive frame up as tall as she could. "You could not have made me an offer of your hand in any possible way that I would feel inclined to accept it. I know and have known since our first meeting that you are the last man on earth I could ever marry. Your pride, your arrogance, and your disdain for all those below you ensure that you will never have my regard."

A muscle twitched at the corner of Aoshi's mouth but he responded with quiet coldness. "Then I will not waste any more of your time, madam." Bowing frigidly, he opened his mouth, then continued in a marginally less frozen tones, "You are ill and I have agitated you with my unwanted affections. I apologize for disturbing you and I wish you all health and happiness. Good day."

With an abrupt yet still graceful gesture, Aoshi exited the room, closing the door and leaving a very agitated Misao behind. After a few seconds of bewildered blinking, she dissolved into a stormy fit of sobs, freely leaking tears all over the Marchioness' fine silk cushions and not caring who discovered her thus unbecalmed.

It was the Marchioness who surprised Misao in the thick of her torrent and to Misao's astonishment, the titled peer showed uncharacteristic kindness, or at least what passed for the Marchioness as kindness, which was handing Misao a fine linen handkerchief and calling for tea. Only when she had two cups of steaming Earl Grey and a slice of strawberry cake inside her did Misao finally gain tolerable control of herself again and attempt to come to mental grips with her second unwanted proposal in less than six months.

The Marchioness observed her keenly and when the peer determined that her protege had calmed herself sufficiently, demanded of her in tolerably kind tones, "Well, what on earth was all that fuss about, Misao?" Hiccuping a little and wiping away a few salty stragglers escaping from her eyes, Misao recounted her story while the Marchioness listened without interrupting.

At the close of the tale, the peer nodded sharply, something speculative in her eye. "Hmm, well I can't say I am entirely astonished at the news. I've seen how Darcy looks at you, girl, although I'm surprised he'd fall for someone of your rank..." The aristocrat trailed off, stirring her tea with precise movements of her wrist and looking at something in the far distance.

Finally she spoke again, "I saw Darcy leave the house as I came back from my visitations and seeing that he was mysteriously deaf to my hails, it appears he took your refusal to heart and was quite upset by it. I doubt you will be troubled by him again. Darcy has his pride and he is not accustomed to it being wounded."

Giving Misao a hard look, the Marchioness stated, "You seem to have a talent for turning down suitable matches. Aoshi is a fine gentleman with more money than he knows what to do with. As with Mr. Collins, I think you a fool for refusing either gentleman."

Misao sniffed and a fresh tear trickled down her face. The Marchioness watched, then let a rare smile (or something like it) rise to her lips. "Well, I suppose you had your good reasons in both cases. I would not worry too much about it, child," she said with slight gentleness. "You have whatever it is my nephew has in store for you to do, and I suspect it will take you far away from Darcy's presence and occupy you with other matters. This will all pass in time."

After another slice of strawberry cake, Misao felt a little better and was warmed by the unexpectedly kind words of the peer. Mercifully, the day passed swiftly, and Misao woke the next morning with the feeling that the other day had been merely a very, very bad dream. While recollections of it still troubled her greatly, she almost tranquil again as she stepped carefully out of the house after lunch, still in the guise of an ill person simply out for a little air and sunshine. To her complete surprise and alarm, Misao nearly ran smack into Aoshi who was approaching the door with his normal long strides.

Stifling a gasp of shock, Misao recoiled backwards violently, determined to slam the door shut and utilize any locks she could find to keep him from entering the house, but Aoshi put one hand up to halt her, his eyes almost begging her to stop.

"Ms. Bennet, I have no wish to intrude upon you. I only desire to answer the charges you laid against me yesterday," he said quietly. A letter was presented to her, of heavy card stock with the Darcy crest embossed on its creamy white side. Misao took it reluctantly as Aoshi continued. "All I ask of you is that you read this letter." With that, he bowed and quickly took his leave, his long frame striding easily into the crowded streets as she watched him go.

Misao had little desire to open the envelope in her fingers, let alone read its contents, but she could not push aside a slight curiosity as to what was inside. Back in her own room, she slit the envelope and removed the letter with fingers that trembled slightly. There was a single sheet, closely covered with rather messy lettering as if the writer had been too hasty to pen his sentences elegantly. As her eyes darted across the page, her furrowed brow deepened.

_Madam, _

_Do not be alarmed that this letter contains a fresh renewal of the offer that was so distasteful to you yesterday. My only wish is to address the charges you laid at my feet so that you have full knowledge of what has transpired and that any misconceptions may be laid to rest. I beg of your attention and your good judgment in this matter. _

_You accused me of orchestrating the detachment of Yahiko Bingley from your sister, and I claim responsibility for that event. From the moment that I began to suspect Yahiko of developing feelings for your sister, I examined them both closely. Yahiko is dear to me and I regard him with all the affection of an elder brother for his younger counterpart. It is of supreme importance to me that Yahiko marries well and happily. However, after careful observation over many weeks, I did not see clear evidence that your sister bore anything but a general regard for Yahiko, even as rumors of their upcoming wedding began to circulate with alarming frequency. Indeed, I saw indifference in her actions and behavior, although Yahiko's feelings were quite apparent. In regards to your sister's level of affection for Yahiko, I defer to your judgment as you have a much better understanding of her personality and inclinations. If I have wounded your sister's feelings, it was unknowingly done. My only concern was for the well-being of my friend, and if I have erred it has been in over-zealousness. _

_In regards to your second charge against me, answering it is not as easily accomplished. Indeed, I am astonished that such rumors have reached your ears, and I have no one to fault but my own carelessness. What I have to say may seem very strange, if not shocking to your good senses. However, my faith in your discretion and wisdom compels me that I may safety uncover secret matters. Were I not wholly determined to explain my actions to you, I would not burden you with such heavy knowledge, and I beg your forgiveness for disclosing the following to you. _

_In short, the Darcys have a long, silent history of engaging in certain activities solely for the purpose of gathering information to ensure the safety and prosperity of England. This charge was laid upon me at birth, and I have not hesitated to discharge these duties as a Darcy. No more will I say to you and I fear that this brief explanation is dreadfully insufficient, likely generating more questions than it answers. But let me be thorough in explaining that the duties passed down from Darcy to Darcy are not always pleasant nor easy, and through my own carelessness, they have apparently generated rumors staining my character. Yet these duties are vital to the continued success of our country, and I will not shirk from them, as distasteful as they may be. _

_I am acutely aware that by writing this letter, I am effectively placing my life in your hands. I have uncovered a secret to you that few people know, and one word in the wrong ear could destroy all that I have worked for. Indeed, I nearly did not write the second part of this letter but although you have little regard for me, I place a high faith in your discretion and I cannot bear the thought that you would harbor deep suspicions about my character and moral standing. I have disclosed to you as much as I can in attempts to answer your second charge against me, but I greatly fear that I have done nothing but confuse your further and place a heavy knowledge upon you that may prove detrimental to your well-being._

_I was not sufficiently in control of myself yesterday to answer your charges directly, and this letter is in attempts to do so. My only request is that when you have perused this letter thoroughly enough to ascertain its contents, that you burn it without delay. For your own safety and my duties as a Darcy, you must forget that I ever disclosed such knowledge to you and destroy this letter. Though my company is thoroughly distasteful to you, I would not place you in danger and I have full trust in your sense of justice that you will not expose anyone to potential harm, regardless of your feelings towards an individual. _

_Aoshi Darcy_

Misao read the letter over and over again, her eyes boring holes in the paper as each word imprinted itself in her brain. Of the former part of the letter, she found little satisfaction: Aoshi had admitted potential misjudgment but there was scant sign of remorse in his words and that damned pride of his was clearly evident. Of the latter, she was at a loss of what to think. At once, her thoughts flew to the young Phantomhive lord and she wondered intently if Aoshi was somehow bound up in Ciel's pursuits. For one long moment, she pondered making a few discreet inquiries to discover if there was a link between the two.

But no. Misao's fist crushed around the letter. Much as she detested the person who had penned it, she was not malicious enough to wish him any harm. He had entrusted her with a great secret, confident enough in her judgment and character to trust her to keep it. It would be a very bad person to betray that confidence, and Misao was not one.

A quick flick of her wrist and the balled-up letter flew into the heart of the small fire warming the parlor. As flames eagerly licked at the ink-lined page, Misao watched it burn, eyes intent and stormy with thoughts.

**Author's note: I'm toying with the idea of working some steampunk elements into this story, since I love steampunk and this story is set in Victorian England. Hmm, I will have to think about this. In the meantime, go look up the song "Just Glue Some Gears On It" on YouTube; I have been humming the refrain for days:**

_**Just glue some gears on it and call it steampunk**_

_**That's the trendy fashion nowadays.**_

_**A copper-painted chunk of some 1980's junk**_

_**Will fetch a pretty penny on Ebay! **_


	10. Into the Belly of the Beast

**Author's note: It's official, other RK characters will be entering this fine and frenzied tale. One minor RK character appears in this chapter, and others will follow. You requested and I will deliver – now, just who will you be seeing soon? Hee hee, you'll have to wait to find out! **

"Take the packages and put them away, Tae," Misao ordered, reminding herself to speak imperially. Her new maid, a pleasant brunette with a country twang in her soft voice, bent her head obediently and bore away the latest additions to Madam Noir's wardrobe: a pile of satin and taffeta in black with touches of blood red. Although it was customarily only widows who wore black clothing and few woman had the boldness to walk about decked in rich crimson, the young Phantomhive lord had declared that Madam Noir would have nothing but those two colors in her wardrobe, with black dominating. This had meant endless sessions with a dressmaker for rounds of fittings, sizings, hemmings, pinnings, and spending enough money for Misao's entire family to live on comfortably for a year. Yet somehow the clothes kept coming in; the earl seemed determined to outfit Misao with everything she needed to integrate into her new life, and her dressing room was close to bursting with her new acquisitions.

Misao tried to stifle a yawn as she flopped heavily on a satin-cushioned divan; no one was around to impress, so she let herself sprawl across it in an ungainly fashion. Such an item of furniture was considered mildly salacious by high society, seeing that it looked rather like a bed and thus hinted at titillation. In fact, as Misao surveyed her new domicile, she was uncomfortably aware that it resembled a brothel in some regards, or at least what she imagined a brothel would look like: rich hanging silk draped everywhere, shaded lamps with fringes, and plumply cushioned furniture, all in black and red. Misao wasn't exactly sure why she needed such a boldly decorated place; while her duties to the Phantomhive lord required letting Kanryū try to seduce her, she had absolutely no intention of placing herself in a situation where they were alone enough to make him attempt to close the deal. Fact was, Misao was dead-set on keeping the bastard away from her new quarters, and definitely away from her bedroom, in desperate efforts to finish this venture with her honor and virtue reasonably intact.

But sadly, doing so had just become monumentally harder. Officially, Misao Bennet was in the imperial hands of Lady Catherine de Bourgh and her daughter for a therapeutic rest cure at Bath. The very same day Misao had left the Marchioness' house in the de Bourgh carriage, Madam Noir had taken possession of her new quarters in a discreet building that she highly suspected contained many a rich man's personal mistress.

Not surprisingly, Sebastian had been there to greet Misao with a bow and smile. "Welcome home, Madam Noir," Sebastian had stated, his silken voice slipping across the fine damask draped elegantly across the walls. "My apologies that my master is not here to greet you. From this point on, we must take special care that our target does not form a connection between you and the Phantomhive manor. We believe our quarry has some knowledge of my master's...particular duties to the crown and if Kanryū suspects you have any dealings with it, the game will be up, I am afraid to say. My master will avoid coming to your quarters to help minimize suspicion."

Misao frowned at the memory as she tried to stretch a tight muscle out of her neck, ignoring the steel grasp of the corset wrapped determinedly around her ribs. Back at home, she wore her corset as loose as she could but as Madam Noir, both her new curves and duties demanded more scaffolding to put the former in the best possible service for the latter. And further scaffolding might be needed in the future: Misao had a distinct feeling that upcoming sparring sessions were going to be all verbal and that the next stage of her endeavors would demand all her brains but leave her muscles sorely untaxed. Not to mention that her new quarters were heavily festooned with bonbons of all types, no doubt Sebastian's doing. Groaning, Misao draped a hand over her eyes, trying not to think about how quickly she would outgrow her new garments if she was unable to resist all the chocolate planted around her residence.

The quiet sounds of Tae moving around redirected Misao's attention away from confectionery matters, and she frowned again. Ciel had ordered Misao to keep her persona of Madam Noir around her new maid, an edict she found difficult to obey. Madam Noir was imperious, flirtatious, demanding, and rather disparagingly immoral, and she treated those below her with contempt. In short, the woman was exactly the opposite of someone Misao wanted to emulate, and it pained her to subject Tae to unkindness. But the Phantomhive lord had passed his edict, and Misao knew that she was dancing on the tip of the ledge: every move she took put her in danger of exposing the ruse and she had to keep a tight grip on the persona of Madam Noir at all times.

And Madam Noir had an engagement that evening, an event Misao was dreading particularly since it would put her squarely in the middle of Kanryū's turf, marching her right into the lion's den. Sighing again, Misao reluctantly pushed herself upwards off the divan. "Tae!" she called out, cringing at the demanding tone in her voice. "Hurry girl, I want to get ready for this evening." _Duty calls,_ she added mentally.

* * *

><p>A thick, visible haze of cloyingly sweet smoke greeted Misao as she stepped from the carriage into the dark street, her small foot touching down on something sticky that clung to the bottom of her elegant boot. Stepping forward, she tried to sweep her skirts clear of whatever it was gumming up her shoe without flashing an ankle to anybody close enough to take a gander. But the dim cobblestones were hazy with London fog and the trickle of furtive-looking people materializing out the darkness around her seemed fixed on the plain door in front of them, not on trying to glimpse a shot of Misao's temporarily exposed ankle. Shaking her blood-red underskirt and the midnight overskirt topping it off, Misao drew herself up haughtily, letting a slight pout cross her lips as she stepped regally forward towards the door.<p>

A well-dressed gentleman intercepted it and opened it with a bow, a smile very much like a leer crossing his face as he did nothing to deter his eyes from crawling up and down Misao's frame as she crossed the threshold. Very much wanting to jab out the eyes that were now lingering intently on her low-cut neckline, Misao forced herself to flash a smile and give him a long, promising look under her eyelashes before plunging into the hot, smoky interior.

The sticky sweet scent increased as Misao passed through the doorframe, her heels ringing across the polished wood floor and her heart beating in her chest as she tried to push back the nervous tension rising in her throat. _I cannot believe I am doing this_, Misao mouthed to herself as she descended the dark staircase, following the sound of people and the flow of traffic, one hand lightly on the banister for support much as she hated to touch anything on the premise. Promising herself she would burn the gloves, if not her entire ensemble, when she returned to her quarters, Misao thought frantically, _Father would be furious if he knew. An opium den. Never in my life did I imagine..._

A twang of some stringed instrument, loud and cacophonous like an irritable cat imprisoned in a carry case, reverberated over the sound of voices softly rising and falling. But the atmosphere seemed hushed and languid, and compared to the previous parties Madam Noir had attended, this one seemed rather tame: no wild laughter, no mad dancing. Perhaps this event would be not quite as bad as she expected...

Misao froze at the bottom of the step, her eyes rolling wide with shock to encounter a dimly lit floor which faintly illuminated an almost totally naked girl dancing slowly in the middle of the room. Aside from a colorful strip of fabric wrapped around her pelvis that fell to mid thigh and was embedded with tiny chimes, the girl had nothing else on, her small breasts bouncing as her arms and hips moved sensuously to the beat of a drum.

_Oh __hells__,_ Misao thought to herself and just about turned on her heel to flee back up the stairs. Feeling crimson rise up in her cheeks, she darted her eyes frantically to the left, away from the dancer's nearly nude frame. Searching for something less shocking to behold, her blue irises fell upon a shadowy figure of a man, paunchy and fighting a losing battle with baldness, lying supine on a pile of cushions as a lithe, barely clothed girl writhed and slid over him, dropping kisses along his aging flesh.

With surprising speed, Misao's eyes swung instantly to the right, half-afraid of what they would find there. The dimly lit corner contained a small cluster of men stretched out on low beds, languidly lifting slender pipes to their mouths and breathing out deeply, adding fresh smoke to the cloying interior.

Amidst the complete shock, disgust, and disbelief scrambling around in Misao's mind, a sudden thought, cool and rational, formed itself into being. _Maybe marrying Mr. Collins or even Mr. Darcy would not have been such a terrible idea after all. _

The thought was like cold water down her back, and Misao shook herself firmly, determined to win back her composure and move forward with the task at hand. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to let a seductive smile glide across her face as she stepped into the den of iniquity, hoping Kanryū would find her soon and take her somewhere away from naked dancers and stupefied opium-eaters.

She was not disappointed. A hand lifted hers as a familiar voice slipped into her ear, oily and edged with heat in a way that made her skin crawl.

"My dear Madam Noir, what a pleasure to have your lovely presence grace my humble abode." Kanryū's tones clung to Misao's skin unpleasantly, but she made herself cock an ear enticingly to his mouth as his sticky breath blew across her neck.

"Kanryū," Misao murmured back. "I see your business acumen has granted you much success." She laughed delicately, patting her mouth with her free hand and and warning herself not to disturb the makeup altering her features. Several sessions of tutelage under the artist had taught Misao how to contour and shade her own face with paint, subtly altering her features, and she hoped that her artistic efforts were sufficient and natural-looking.

Kanryū laughed a pleased chuckle. "Yes, business is quite good, my lady." Stepping into her personal space more closely, he dropped his voice lower and more suggestive. "Perhaps you would care for a sample of my wares?"

Misao thanked the fan in her black gloved fingers as its flutter helped hide her expression. Letting a delicate giggle escape her lips, she gave him a knowing look under her long eyelashes. "Oh, I am afraid I must decline, my good sir. You of all people certainly know that it is possible to enjoy one's work a little too much and the nature of our...occupation is one that easily leads itself to excess." Sweeping her eyes pointedly around the room, Misao returned her gaze to Kanryū's intent face and arched a well-shaped eyebrow at him.

Letting her open fan rest for a moment on her upper lip, Misao continued, "Is that not what this is all about? Indulgent excess?" Clicking her tongue against her teeth playfully, Misao fluttered her fan at her unwanted companion. "It is best to keep a clear head, no?"

Kanryū laughed again, and the notes grated along Misao's spine. "How right you are, my lady," he oozed and reached for Misao's arm. She allowed him to tuck it firmly in the crook of his elbow but nearly pulled back when her limb made contact with a firm bicep. Despite his soft hands, Kanryū apparently was not wholly without muscle, and Misao filed that information away for the future, making a note to take extra caution around the man.

But Kanryū was speaking, and his words called her attention back to his face. "In truth, I will confess that I follow the same mindset." He gave her a lopsided leer down his narrow nose. "Black Pearl is a demanding mistress and though I am happy to place her in the services of others, I take care not to fall under her spell."

"Besides," the leer was deepening as Kanryū looked at Misao intently. "My preference is for women in black. Pearls are not exactly to my taste, whatever color they may be."

Misao kept the promising smile on her lips as she allowed Kanryū to escort her forward, forcing herself to relax and not tense up at his touch against her skin. However, not knowing where he was leading her to was putting her into all sorts of worry. She had a brace of _kunai_ strapped to her thigh and one in her dainty left boot, but accessing any of these weapons would mean frantically delving through yards of satin and lace to find it, a process that could take several seconds. The only immediate weapons she had at her disposal were her fists and quick wits and she deeply hoped that the latter would make the former unnecessary.

But Kanryū was leading her not to a bedroom but to a sitting room comfortably furnished in an exotic Middle Eastern style. With a bow he seated Misao on a chair and took the one opposite to her. She deeply disliked having her back to the door but smiled away the discomfort as a slight noise signaled the entrance of a third party. It was a girl with a sheet of hair past her waist and a scandalously short tunic: the ends of her hair brushed the hem of her tunic, exposing bare legs, and her porcelain face was blank like a wax doll.

"Tea, if you please," Kanryū ordered and the girl ducked her head, hair falling like a silken curtain in front of her as she backed gracefully out of the room. Within a minute or two, she reappeared with a silver tray bearing an ornate Moorish tea set, exotic spices filling the air. A cup of something very strong and sweet was placed in Misao's hand as Kanryū explained.

"Chai. It is a Arab tea I am quite fond of. I do hope you like it." To her surprise, Misao found it delectable and bracing, filling her with energy for the encounter and lending her strength with its warmth. Kanryū reclined against the one Western piece of furniture in the room, a wing-back chair that gave him a slightly regal, imposing presence, and balanced the teacup in his long fingers as he gazed at Misao openly, a calculating expression beginning to creep over his features.

Misao forced herself to relax and concentrate on enjoying the tea in front of her, letting her eyelids close to rest her lashes against her cheeks and her breathing rise and fall rhythmically, working calmness into her energy to cover up any trace of nervousness that Kanryū might be able to detect. Silence fell over the room until Kanryū finally broke it.

"Now, my Madam Noir," he said, placing his teacup down on a low table with a business-like air. "Supposing you now tell me what you know of Qing Bang Lau and his...particular activities."

Misao let a teasing smile lift the corners of her mouth as she imperially signaled the serving girl for more tea. "Supposing you tell me what you most wish to hear about," she responded coquettishly, ignoring the girl who silently filled Misao's cup and placed it carefully back in her palm.

A glint of interest rose in Kanryū's eye, "Ah, Madam, supposing you tell me what you think I would most wish to know." Challenge edged each note, sending Misao's mind clicking furiously despite the calm smile on her face.

She paused for a few moments, making a show of pondering his statement as she cocked her head enticingly to the side in charming thought. "I would think that you would most like to know that the raw material for Lady Blanc is grown in Turkey," Misao began slowly. "A single Turk, a Mr. Köselerin Hasan, controls the local opium growers and is the only one who provides Lau the poppies he uses for Lady Blanc."

The gleam in Kanryū's eye deepened. "Turkey, hmm?" Leaning back, he said quietly. "I have yet to consider Turkey as a possible source since India is far more inexpensive and easier to export products from. However..." he trailed off, his eyes never leaving Misao's face. She took another sip of tea, biding her time.

Kanryū continued. "A sole supplier?" he clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "Bad idea, Lau. Good business practice is all about diversifying. It greatly lessens risk that way."

Misao gave an enigmatic smile. "Yes, but this particular supplier is the only one to have bred a specific type of poppy: _Papaver Maximus." _She lowered her lashes and peered intently at Kanryū, noting the mounting interest in his eyes. She welcomed it as his focus seemed to be at least partially diverting away from attempts to seduce and redirecting itself towards business matters.

Keeping his tone casual, Kanryū questioned, "And what exactly is this _Papaver Maximus, _Madam Noir?"

Misao lifted the teacup to her lips. "A carefully bred strain of poppy flower which contains an extremely high concentration of morphine."

"How high?" Kanryū asked, and Misao could hear the greed rising in his voice. Testing his energy in the air, she smiled to herself. He was still alert, mind keen for danger, but so far he was willingly walking down the path she had set for him and ready for more information.

Going in for the kill, Misao announced casually. "Twenty percent on average and at times twenty-five percent."

Kanryū gave her a hard stare of disbelief. "Impossible," he pronounced dismissively. "The best varieties of poppy only contain ten to twelve percent morphine."

Patting her mouth delicately on a napkin, Misao said, "No not impossible. Certainly difficult, but not impossible. The growers of this region have experimented for centuries, passing down closely guarded family secrets, to arrive at _Papaver Maximus. _Also, it is said that the soil and climate of this region is optimal: the acidic content of the soil is the exact right level for poppies to grow. There is a volcano in the region that is active enough to regularly rain ash down on the soil, which further enriches it."

As Misao spoke, Kanryū's face began losing its dubious expression and by the time she finished talking, a cautious optimism had replaced it. Hiding another smile, she thought of the carefully wrought tale that the Phantomhive lord had helped her concoct with Sebastian and Lau's assistance. There was some truth to the matter – Lau did have several suppliers in Turkey and one particular area did produce poppies that contained higher than average morphine content. But there was no _Papaver Maximus _nor did Lau receive all his opium from one supplier. However, her story was plausible enough, and Kanryū seemed to be accepting it. But Misao had no doubt that Kanryū would investigate her claims thoroughly and she hoped fervently that Lau was doing his part of the bargain to lay the right tracks to keep Kanryū from growing suspicious.

At the close of Misao's explanation, Kanryū fell into a meditative silence, fingers steepled together and a slight frown on his face. The expression slightly worried Misao, but she suspected his brow was wrinkled in thought, not suspicion. "Interesting," he said at last. "In recent years, there has been much movement away from Turkey as a supplier and towards India since it is under British control. Exporting from Turkey surely must be more costly for Lau. Yet then again..."

Kanryū made a humming noise, then continued after a moment or two. "A highly concentrated form of morphine would allow Lau to not only make much stronger opium but use a great deal less for a stronger effect, reducing his costs and increasing his profits significantly..." He trailed off again as Misao forced herself to continue drinking tea calmly, grateful for the hot beverage in her gloved fingers.

Several moments passed by while Misao toyed with whether or not to say anything else. She was keenly aware of the dangerous and delicate chess match she was engaged in – one wrong move and it was checkmate. Although she was reasonably convinced she could fight her way out of most situations, the months of plotting and planning would be for naught if she somehow blew her cover or Kanryū became suspicious. And she had no intention of letting those months go to waste: the more Misao became entangled in the dark, fetid world of misery and abuse Kanryū had helped create, the more she wanted to see it completely eradicated. Removing Kanryū from power was a start, and she had every intention of seeing this king fall from his throne.

Taking a calculated risk, Misao added casually, "Do not forget the doctors and pharmacists, my dear sir."

"Ah," Kanryū responded with interest. "So the good Lau has his fingers in the medical field as well."

Misao nodded knowingly, biting back a growl of anger. While laudanum was a blessing to anyone suffering from pain, she well knew that there were scores of people throughout England, most of them women, suffering from addiction to the drug. Upon coming to London, Misao had been aghast at how many posters she had encountered on the streets advertising concoctions such as "Mrs. Fields' Soothing Syrup" and "Dr. Foster's Children's Drops", all heavily laced with cocaine, heroine, and opium. As Misao delved into the festering underbelly of the drug trade through the tutelage of Lord Phantomhive and Sebastian, she was astonished and horrified that parents would even consider dosing their children with such dangerously addictive and damaging potions. Although many doctors railed against such quackery, there were plenty of parents tipping these snake oil concoctions down their children's throats and their own as well.

But Kanryū's voice drew her thoughts away from these sad musings. "Lau plays high stakes, I see. I was, at one time, in the pharmaceutical business as well but there has been too much interest in regulating medicinal drugs for my taste. With the Pharmacy Act being passed three years ago, it became, ah, _prudent_, to keep my wares from medical professionals who are too often under the watchful eye of authorities."

Waving a hand languidly at his surroundings, Kanryū smiled. "If one is careful to remain discreet and provide, shall we say, proper incentives to local law enforcements, it's rather quite remarkable how poor their vision can be." He smiled unpleasantly. "Why I've had a rather astonishing number of politicians and policemen visiting my fine establishment and it's a wonder how little they notice." The unpleasant smile deepened. "I've been fortunate to have very little trouble with the law."

"I am glad to hear that, my good sir," Misao said, letting a note of sternness creep into her voice. "It would be most unpleasant for me if there were to be any trouble associated with my name. After all, I am..." her voice quavered as it dropped a few notes along with her eyes. "I am only a widow alone and bereft in the world and...and betrayed by one I trusted. I..." her voice trailed away as one hand clenched the fine satin of her gown.

Slightly cold fingers lifted her gloved hand and squeezed it firmly as Misao scented Kanryū's body at her side, an acrid, sharp smell that made her nostrils quiver. "My dear madam," Kanryū's voice was hot and intimate in her ear, "You have suffered greatly. Allow me to ease your sorrow and your mind."

Misao sniffed delicately and let her wounded eyes peer up at him with some timidness. "How do I know I can trust you?" she questioned quietly.

Kanryū's head dropped lower to her ear. "You have entrusted me with much." A long finger stroked the back of her hand. "I am at your service, madam."

Misao sniffed again, feeling herself so much in character that a small tear started to well up in the corner of her eye. Kanryū's head dipped lower and for one brief and horrifying moment Misao thought he was going to try to kiss her. The smallest of coughs on the other side of the room saved her.

Kanryū's head whipped around, mercifully removing his lips from Misao's immediate vicinity and directing his attention away from her. "Yes?" he questioned harshly to the pale, long-haired girl who had appeared in the room again.

The girl's head dipped, sending her hair rippling like a bolt of the finest silk. "Excuse me, sir, but there is a problem," she whispered, her English accented but clear.

Kanryū rose to his feet irritably, but paused for a moment to squeeze Misao's hand tenderly. "This will only take a moment, my dear."

"No, I should go," Misao said smoothly, rising to her feet. "I fear I am developing a headache." Hoping Kanryū wouldn't protest, she gently dropped his hand as he wrinkled his brow, clearly torn between duty and desire. But the sound of voices, loud and argumentative, drew his attention, so with a quick kiss to Misao's hand, Kanryū followed the serving girl out the door, closing it behind him.

Misao took a few deep breaths of the cloying sweet air, almost giddy with relief that Kanryū was gone and that she hadn't needed to gently extricate herself from his embrace in a way that did not offend him. After allowing herself a few minutes of quiet elation and recovery, Misao rang the bell for a servant.

Another girl, almost a clone of the first one but with hair a little past her shoulders, appeared silently and bowed her head obediently. "Call my carriage," Misao commanded imperially, barely glancing at the servant. The girl nodded and left, and Misao's heart twisted as she watched the maid walk away. The girl's eyes were dull as if the spirit had fled, leaving only the body behind, and it tore at Misao's heart to speak harshly to someone who was obviously suffering. Still brooding, she waited until the girl returned to announce the arrival of the carriage, then swept regally out of the hellish den and back into the sticky air of a London night.

It was the very thick of nighttime, the light of only a few stars managed to pierce through the fog as heavy clouds shrouded the sky. Reclining against the rich cushion, Misao tried to stifle a yawn. The strong tea and adrenaline were starting to wear off as fatigue took their places, but this was no time to relax. Her young employer had both warned her that she would likely be followed and cautioned her about not giving much bother if she was.

"If you are too alert to your surroundings, Kanryū will take notice," the boy lord had stated flatly. "By all means, pay attention if you think you are being followed, but be discreet about it: Kanryū will expect you to be cautious but not overly clever."

Reaching out with her flagging senses, Misao tried to test her surroundings, gain a sense of energy that indicated someone was quietly tracing her steps, but she could ascertain nothing. A larger yawn tugged at her jaws, and she finally gave up vigilance for loss. _Let them follow,_ she grumbled to herself. _It's best if Kanryū thinks he can trust me and not find anything to raise his suspicions. _

Back at her opulent, brothel-styled apartment, Misao entered with an impatient sigh as Tae stepped forward quietly to retrieve her mistress' shawl. "I want to go to bed, Tae," Misao commanded, hating the strident words in her tone. Even at home she could not relax and be out of character for one brief moment; Tae was yet another person Misao had to posture in front of and lie to, even in her own room. Sighing internally, Misao let Tae extricate her from the yards of satin and lace and that dammed tight corset, unpin her hair from its elaborate upsweep, and finally leave her alone where she could think.

Wrapped in a silk dressing gown that was a deep blue (one of the few things she now owned that was not black or red), Misao plunked down on the bed with a sigh, letting herself splay across it, and closed her eyes. Dusk was edging close to the horizon, but Madam Noir was a creature of the night and rarely rose before mid-morning. Misao had finally left the stage for the evening, her play done and curtain call had ended: now sleep beckoned. Hazy shadows rose in her mind as slumber began stroking her fragile eyelids.

"I trust, my lady, that your outing proved useful?" a quiet and unmistakably male voice broke through the silence.

Misao's eyes flew open and she rocketed out of bed with a muffled shriek."Sebastian!" she screamed in a whisper, scandalized, outraged, but determined not to let Tae hear anything. Clutching the entirely insufficient robe close over her body, Misao glared at the butler who had suddenly apparated into the middle of her bedroom, one hand on his breast as his long, elegant frame bowed gracefully towards Misao. His ruby eyes were calm but there was the slightest gleam of mirth in their red depths.

Shooting daggers out of her eyes, Misao faced him fully and demanded in quiet but extremely animated tones. "_Were you in my bedroom this entire time_?"

"Ah, yes Madam, I was instructed to gain a full report from you without arousing the suspicions of your excellent and attentive maid. Waiting for you in your room was the only way I could do so, not to mention also escape the notice of the three efficient employees of Kanryū who followed you home." Sebastian responded with all courtesy and respect as Misao's blush and indignation increased exponentially. "While I confess I was indeed waiting for you in your room, I can assure you most fully that I took pains to shield my eyes from any wardrobe-related activities you and your maid were partaking in and..."

"Oh shut up," Misao hissed furiously as she flounced over to a chair and threw herself into it heavily. _This makes it twice I have undressed in Sebastian's presence; is this going to become a habit?_ she thought murderously to herself while staring at the butler furiously. _Ye gods, it would help if he was slightly less attractive, _the thought slipped into her mind as another furious blush erupted.

Covering it up with a snarl, Misao barked out quietly, "What do you want?"

With a slight bow, the butler questioned. "I would be most grateful if you could tell me what transpired between you and Kanryū this evening."

Still shooting death glares at the butler, Misao gave a hurried but thorough summary as Sebastian listened intently. At the close of her report, he said quietly, "And this is all that Kanryū told you of his business?"

"Yes," Misao responded. Irritably, she picked up a hairbrush and began running it through her hair to work off some of the tension and distract her hands from their sudden, heartfelt desire to wrap themselves around Sebastian's neck and squeeze, very very hard.

With a slight cough, the butler stated, "My master had hoped that you would have uncovered some more insights into Kanryū's dealings this evening."

"Well I didn't," Misao snapped, feeling tension tying her shoulders up in knots. "We were interrupted and he was becoming too close for comfort..."

Cool, slender fingers caught her hand gently as the hairbrush suddenly disappeared from Misao's grasp. "My lady," Sebastian's voice was warm and sensuous in her ear, playing along her spine like fingers on a harp. Despite herself, Misao shivered as the heat of the butler's body warmed against the blue silk of her dressing gown.

"I know this is neither pleasant nor easy for you, my lady," Sebastian's words caressed Misao's skin. "Yet you have done splendidly and have gained us much valuable information. But I must stress to you that time is becoming crucial. While we do not wish to be hasty, there is a danger in over-caution. You have seen what damage and abuse Kanryū has wrought. Surely one as honorable and upright as yourself wishes to see him dethroned. For that," Sebastian's voice dropped lower and more intimate, "We must call upon your courage and cleverness. Be valiant for our sakes, my lady. We need you."

The stubbornness and objection in Misao were melting away like ice against Sebastian's silken tongue and she struggled in vain to keep a grip on her irritation. Much to her dismay, she heard herself saying, "Okay, Okay," in a resigned voice and she sighed deeply as tiredness began to overtake fury. Rubbing her eyes, Misao stated, "I will try harder. I will be bolder. I will have more information next time."

"Thank you," the words floated delicately against her skin as the butler's smile warmed Misao to her toes. "I will return to my lord for now. Until then, my lady." With a flutter of fabric, the butler disappeared through the window that Misao just now noticed was open, leaving her with a heart thudding a staccato rhythm against her chest and flushed cheeks glowing strangely.

"Dammit," Misao swore quietly, punching a tired fist into a silk pillow. _How dare that butler take liberties like that_...she thought to herself, half-hating the heat in her cheeks and half-laughing to herself. Sebastian, she long learned, took whatever means possible to please his master and if that meant turning on the charm, he obviously would stoop to that.

Flinging herself down on the bed, Misao allowed herself a moment of mirth. _Oh yes, Sebastian, please seduce me into seducing Kanryū, wouldn't that be a pretty game? _Well, in the past half-year she had been proposed to by an odious clergyman, then a rich man whom she detested. Perhaps a torrid affair with a devilishly handsome butler was in order. At the thought, Misao buried her face in the pillow and shook the bed with her silent giggles as thunder rumbled on the dark horizon, threatening imminent rain.

* * *

><p><em>Rain. Why is it always raining in London? <em>Aoshi thought sourly as moisture dripped down the back of his white coat, drenching his garments unpleasantly. He ignored the sensation as he perched in the shadows, eyes keen in the darkness and trained on the barely visible ship in front of him. It was a few hours before dawn and not a soul was on the wharf; all was silent and still.

But through the thick fog, Aoshi caught the faintest sound of paddles splashing quietly across the waters, and a grim smile rose to his lips. Moving silently through the darkness, his keen eyes pierced the thick gloom. The quiet sound of wood against wood, hushed voices trying desperately to be silent. Ducking through shadows and moving through darkness, Aoshi traced the noise, noting every flutter of energy from the nervous men furtively at work as they began transferring barrels from one ship to the next. Aoshi knew the first ship, had explored it thoroughly. No one noticed as he slipped quietly aboard the second ship and went cat foot along the deck to the captain's quarters.

Not a soul was on board, and a few minutes' work with a bent piece of wire popped the lock to the captain's room, the man himself obviously not present to guard his ship. _Likely a guest at the Crimson Rose,_ Aoshi through grimly to himself as he slipped across the room to the seachest and picked the lock. In a moment or two, he found what he wanted.

A shaft of wan moonlight through the small window faintly illuminated the pages of the ship's log as Aoshi's sharp eyes skimmed it carefully, information flowing to him as a knowing frown rose to his lips. Minutes ticked by as he quickly browsed the volume before replacing it exactly where it had been, then relocked both chest and room and quietly leaving the ship like a shadow.

Back on land, Aoshi disappeared into the darkness once more, his tall frame eating up the dank cobblestones as he stalked past piles of refuse, the occasional supine man asleep and snoring, and the effusion of the streets, his feet taking him to more genteel areas while his mind chewed meditatively on the new information he had just acumulated.

Suddenly Aoshi paused, his shoulders tense and alert. "Sebastian," he stated coldly to the darkness surrounding his white-cloaked frame.

"Mr. Darcy," the voice out of the shadows responded as the butler stepped forward with a bow and a smile. "I trust you are well?" The two men eyed each other in the dark, frozen and poised, each testing the other for the slightest sign of weakness.

After a long moment of frozen silence, Aoshi frowned icily. "I have news," he stated and briefly outlined the information contained in the ship's log as Sebastian's ruby eyes gleamed in the dark.

"Interesting," the butler responded smoothly. "We have suspected that Kanryū was beginning to diversify to the Americas but we did not realize he has been doing so in such...enthusiastic measures. Oh dear," the elegant head cocked as a slender finger rose to his cheek. "I am afraid the colonists will need deep pockets if they are to afford Black Pearl. The costs of shipping it there will not be small..."

"This is not Black Pearl," Aoshi cut him off coldly. "This is something new. Here." He thrust his hand forward and dropped several paper-wrapped triangles in the butler's hand. "I do not know what it is, but it is a different strain and, I suspect, more potent."

"Curious." The butler held one of the triangles up, balanced delicately on his fingertips. "We will examine it carefully."

"As will I," Aoshi responded and turned curtly as if to leave. The butler's words caught his attention sharply.

"I see that Ms. Misao Bennet has left London," Sebastian commented, apropos of nothing, a smile like a razor showing a glint of white teeth.

Like a bolt of lightening, Aoshi's long frame whirled around and an inch of steel gleamed in the dull moonlight., loosened from its sheath and poised for battle. His voice as sharp as the blade at his side, Aoshi stated with deadly calm, "Tell your master this: there will be no attempts whatsoever to involve Ms. Bennet or any of her family in this matter. He will have my gravest displeasure should he even ponder such an action."

The butler's enigmatic smile sent Aoshi's blood boiling with challenge as another half inch of steel freed itself from the parent sheath. "My dear sir, we would not dream of involving _Ms. Bennet_ in any of our particular dealings," the butler responded mildly.

Aoshi noted the emphasis and his frown deepened. Never had he more wanted to draw a blade on the butler and only the man's lack of a weapon stayed his hand; Aoshi was this close to throwing one of his _kodachi_ at Sebastian and starting a battle. This time, Aoshi knew in his bones it would not end in a draw.

Instead, he restrained himself with some difficulty and slid the weapon back in its _saya_. "Do not forget to bring word back, _butler_," Aoshi intoned with a rumble of warning that matched the growl of thunder over both their heads before disappearing into the shadows.

Sebastian watched him go, a glint of something keen and dangerous in his red eyes as fresh rain began to fall on his ivory skin.

**Author's note: to write this chapter, I had to do research on opium, poppies, growing poppies, Victorian era drug use and pharmaceuticals, and the history of opium production. Hopefully someone doesn't look at my browser history and come to the wrong conclusions. Most of these facts are historically based – England did pass a Pharmacy Act and it was cheaper to export opium from India which was under British control. And yes, many people in Victorian England saw nothing wrong with pouring dangerous drugs inside of kids and themselves. When you have a fussy baby, try a little heroin! (No, really, don't, for the love of God, don't do it). **


	11. The Beauty at Bay

**Author's note: enter a cavalcade of RK characters! Misao gets into more mischief, Aoshi up to more daring-do, and danger and adventure beckons! Luckily I have been sick the last couple days which has given my glorious amounts of free time for writing. I think that the luxury of writing for hours on end is one of the reasons I get colds as much as I do; my body must subconsciously be lowering its immune system so that I can peck away at my laptop!**

"Explain this, Lau," the young lord of Phantomhive demanded flatly, fingers interlaced in front of him and one blue eye fixed upon the shaggy-haired young man indolently lounging on the couch opposing Ciel's chair. Draped across the man's lap was a girl of Asian extract, possessing a bosom of truly monumental proportions and an extremely abbreviated skirt with two slits up her creamy thighs towards her hips. Despite her exceedingly risque appearance, the girl was surprisingly demure and uttered not a syllable, face wax-doll immobile and attention fixed wholly on Lau.

Aoshi sat silently adjacent the two, icy eyes both disapproving the girl's attire and posture and occasionally wandering over on their own volition to sneak a gander at her exposed legs, much as he firmly ordered his ungentlemanly pupils to behave themselves. But Aoshi's mind was too consumed with the task at hand to be overmuch distracted by this enticing display of female flesh. Business was pressing.

Lau was rifling idly through the sheaf of paper in his hand. "Dear me," he stated lazily. "This chemist's report is most distressing. Apparently Kanryū has been stepping up the game a few notches."

"You have heard nothing of this?" Aoshi questioned coolly, eyes narrowing. From all his nonchalant demeanor, Lau was a shrewd businessman, fully able to go toe-to-toe with Kanryū and just as intent on destroying his rival. For Lau not to know of a sudden business development from his greatest foe was unusual.

"I may have heard that Kanryū's been up to some new tricks," Lau replied carelessly. "He's not one to rest on his laurels and he's constantly trying new innovations."

"I hardly call inventing a drug that has a high likelihood of killing your clients an innovative business venture," Aoshi stated cuttingly.

"Yes, yes," Lau waved a hand dismissively. "This new strand of opium does have near-lethal levels of morphine in it, which of course allows Kanryū to sell much less for much more. And with the added bonus of causing almost instant addiction, I would think." Lau tossed the papers on the table at their knees and laughed slowly. "I would imagine that the benefits outweigh the negatives." Giving the woman draped over his lap a fond squeeze, he said to her, "We will simply need to be more clever than him, won't we?"

Sebastian stepped forward silently, his lean frame bending and turning with exquisite grace as fresh tea was poured into delicate bone-china cups. Aoshi received his refill with glacial calmness; there was something vaguely smug about the butler that afternoon, and Aoshi could not forget the words of their last encounter.

"_I see that Ms. Misao Bennet has left London." _

"_Tell your master this: there will be no attempts whatsoever to involve Ms. Bennet or any of her family in this matter. He will have my gravest displeasure should he even ponder such an action."_

Glowering silently to himself, Aoshi did not let a muscle display his inner musings as he lifted the teacup to his lips and refused, with a shake of his head, the chocolate torte Sebastian was elegantly dispensing. Aoshi had little taste for sweets, and chocolate was one particular delicacy he did not enjoy; it was far too cloying and rich for his palate.

The master of the manor was speaking again. "We need more information on this new strain of opium. Sebastian and I will gather information on our end but Aoshi and Lau, we need your particular expertise as well."

Aoshi set his cup down. "It appears that Kanryū is shipping the bulk of this new strain to the Americas. It makes sense – opium in such concentrated form would be much easier and less costly to ship. With the high numbers of Chinese immigrants in the major cities, there is already a customer base and there are growing numbers of colonists developing a fondness for the drug." Frowning slightly, Aoshi added, "I have heard it said that the Americans are as devoted to laudanum as Britain's citizens are, yet have far less access to it. This opium strand will change that."

Ciel's brow furrowed a trifle. "We need to act quickly. If I am not mistaken, this situation will grow quickly out of hand. Just in the past week, there were fourteen reported deaths due to opium overdoses in London, and that is the official count. I have no doubt that the actual number is far higher. Her Majesty is eager that the situation be resolved quickly. If an epidemic of opium-related deaths sweeps the nation and the Queen is unable to halt it, people will lose confidence in the crown." Hardness crept into the young master's voice as he pronounced coldly, "I will not allow this to happen."

"Of course, of course," Lau wagged a hand negligently. "You worry too much, my young lord. I will have my sources investigate the matter thoroughly."

"As will I," Aoshi pronounced firmly.

The barest scrape of precious china against china betrayed Sebastian's presence in a dark corner of the room, elegant back to them and white-gloved hands busy with his task, but a gleam of flashing white teeth shone in the dark.

Aoshi's narrowed eyes cut across the room to the butler. _What secrets are you hiding, Sebastian Michaelis?_ he thought but there was only silence hanging heavily in the air.

* * *

><p>"Please mind your step, my dear Madam," Kanryū oozed attentively, one hand grasping Misao's and the other placed firmly on the square of her back. Misao deeply disliked having even one of his hands on her, very much less two, but she allowed them to stay where they were and silently thanked the yards of constricting material and fiendishly tight corset protecting her skin from Kanryū's touch. Although Misao privately thought that society deemed women needed to wear far more clothing than was necessary or even healthy, she had begun to realize that being trussed up in over a dozen pounds of fabric had its benefits at times, and one of them was making seduction exponentially harder for any male tenacious enough to give it a try. Unlike most unmarried damsels of her time, Misao actually had a fairly good grasp of what transpired between a man and a woman in their most private moments, thanks to a startlingly explicit and forthright book she had discovered buried in the depths of her father's private library a few years back. The material and drawings contained within had been scandalously shocking, followed by repulsive, then became mildly intriguing, an emotion that had steadily grown stronger in Misao the more she pondered the subject at hand.<p>

Remembering this book, Misao bit back an embarrassed grin, then silently thanked her father for owning such a shocking, yet informative volume. It had given her a fairly liberal understanding of what Kanryū's end goal was, if his fingers currently around her hand in an intimately familiar grip and the other five stroking the small of her back in small circles were any indication.

_Sorry. Despite evidence to the contrary, you will __not__ have your way with me, my good sir, _Misao silently promised him as she allowed Kanryū to lead her through a bustling work area as Misao tried to keep her trailing skirts from snagging in the narrow walkways. One thing the book had been silent on was how to effectively deal with the yards of constricting clothing both parties were swathed in, particularly if one member of the equation was less keen on the incipient pairing than the other. Knowing how long it took Tae to dress and undress her every day, Misao was privately convinced that modern female clothing was one of the most effective anti-seduction weapons available: the efforts involved in getting the lady alone and divesting her of all her garments, particularly if she resisted, probably were challenging enough to make most men give the endeavor up for a loss and find something else with which to amuse themselves.

Kanryū, unfortunately, seemed to be exactly the sort of man who welcomed challenges and obstacles with vigor, and indeed he was looking very keen and undaunted as he deftly steered Misao forward through the crowded work area. "I do apologize for the noise and dirt, my dear," he crooned in her ear as Misao delicately lifted a silk handkerchief to her nose as if shielding her nostrils from any filth in the air. Testing Kanryū's energy carefully, Misao smiled to herself. While she was convinced that he would never fully trust her (Kanryū was far too shrewd a businessman to do that), he was taking her further and further into his confidence with increased enthusiasm. Some of it had something to do with the information she had just fed him a half-hour ago, a carefully crafted list of half-truths, slanted numbers, and artful shadings about Lau's business. Kanryū had apparently swallowed the information whole and was eager to return the favor for he had taken Misao out of the hushed, languid embrace of the opium den and into its bustling, noisy innards where the poison was brewed, packaged, and dispensed.

"Here it is, my dear." A tiny, paper-wrapped triangle was placed triumphantly in Misao's black-gloved palm. "It's called Spider's Web, my _magnus opus_." Misao examined the package closely, then carefully unwrapped it and let the tip of her tongue brush tentatively against the black crystals. Although she hated to have any contact with the drug in any form, the Phantomhive lord had told her that tasting was a normal part of testing opium and had presented her with several strands to taste-test in order to gain a sense for the drug's effects. As Misao's tongue brushed across the crystals in her palm, she shivered as her tongue tingled intently. The effect was far more powerful than the opium provided by the Phantomhive manor had been, and she did not need any further proof that this Spider's web was extremely potent, dangerously so.

Kanryū was watching Misao keenly as she closed her eyes with the effect of the drug, then opened them theatrically. "My goodness," she purred with pleased surprise. "My complements to your chemists who developed this. It is very potent." Her tongue was slowly going numb in her mouth, but she clicked it against her teeth with a laugh. "Lau will need to interrogate the creator of this Spider's Web and learn his secrets if he is stay competitive with you."

Kanryū laughed an unpleasant chuckle. "Ah, Madam, you are in for a rather interesting surprise." They were approaching a heavy door guarded by an oafish-looking lout whom Kanryū ordered aside with the jerk of his head. The guard pulled back the sturdy door with a clumsy bow as Kanryū escorted Misao forward into a well-stocked laboratory dominated by a vast worktable taking up much of the room. Seated at the table was an exquisite woman, her head bent over her work.

"Madam Noir, I present to you my little golden goose, Megumi Takani! She is sole maker of Spider's Web!" At the sound of her name, the woman's head rose, a heavy fringe of black bangs falling in front of the most agonizing eyes Misao had ever seen in her life. They spoke poignantly of unendurable sorrow and desperation, and Misao found her own eyes rising up in sympathy, her thoughts automatically abandoning the charade she was caught up in and turning themselves sharply towards easing this woman's crushing pain before Misao caught herself firmly. _Stay in character, _she ordered herself. _No matter how much it hurts, stay in character. _

"Yes, little Megumi," Kanryū crooned unpleasantly as he stepped around the worktable, Misao's sharp eyes noticing how the woman visibly cringed as he bore down on her. Megumi's porcelain face was twisted with pain, her lovely red mouth tight and her eyes like a wounded deer desperately seeking relief. Kanryū pinched her fondly on the cheek as an indulgent uncle might do to a favorite niece.

"Dr. Takani here was well-trained by Dr. Chikao in how to make Spider's Web. Unfortunately, the dear doctor was reluctant, rather fatally so, to diverge the secret to anyone else. So that makes our Megumi the only one capable of carrying out our mission! And she too is keeping her secrets!" Kanryū laughed again and gave the doctor a fond pat on the cheek he had just pinched. "But we will discover them soon, won't we, Megumi?"

It took all of Misao's training and strength to stay in character. To cover up her emotions, she tapped her fan thoughtfully against her jaw as she gave the doctor a cool, appraising look one might give a carriage horse for sale. "I would discover her secrets soon, Kanryū," she pronounced "Just five doctors like this woman could generate enough Spider's Web to easily wipe out Lau in six months."

Kanryū smiled at Misao in a cruel, twisted way that made her insides cramp. "Madam, I am pleased to see that our hearts beat as one. It will be done, mark my words." Silently praying that she hadn't just condemned the poor doctor to death or severe torture, Misao smiled away the worry and allowed Kanryū to swoop her out of the room as he started in on a new topic. "Over here is our shipping room. We have devised a particularly useful packing material that very effectively seals water out of the product and..."

But try as she might, Misao could not shake the image of the doctor's haunted, pain-filled eyes from her mind. Only with extreme effort did she manage to attend to what Kanryū was saying and respond attentively to him. He was in a rather prideful, expansive mood, happy to show her his work and boast about his successes, although Misao was acutely aware that her every move and word was being carefully scrutinized; the admonition from her employer rang loudly in her memory.

"_Kanryū will always be testing you. He is extremely aware that a beautiful woman has been the downfall of many men, and there are very few people he lets into his confidence. You must never show weakness or hesitation and you must never let your character drop. The slightest inconsistency and he will note it and once his suspicions are aroused, it will be very difficult to regain his trust. Do not fail me." _

_I will not, _Misao promised him and herself silently as she continued the grand tour with Kanryū. It was a small comfort at least to sense that at this time Kanryū was more interested in business than he was taking as many liberties with Madam Noir's person as she would allow. When afternoon began waxing towards evening and the tour was completed, Misao escaped into her carriage with nothing more than a deep, hot kiss against the back of her hand and some delicate stroking along her wrist.

But as Misao entered the carriage, she was immediately and uncomfortably aware of a strange energy awaiting her there. It did not seem hostile so ignoring it, she smiled and cooed at Kanryū until she gratefully saw his back striding away from her with a rolling gait that looked very much like a strut. As soon as her hand had been released and Kanryū had turned in the opposite direction, Misao's head snapped around sharply as her blue eyes stared into the dark depths of the carriage, its opposite seat hidden in shadows. "What do you want?" she snapped out, hand already going for the _kunai_ in her boot.

"Please," a whispered voice, throbbing with tears and pain, slipped out of the darkness as a form moved forward. The carriage had started and was passing dim street lights, enough for Misao to catch a glimpse of her riding companion. Pale skin, faintly lined with tears, and a red rosebud of a mouth moved forward in the darkness.

"_You_!" Misao spat back. "How on earth did _you_ get in here?"

"I know you're not who you say you are," the woman doctor rushed out, one hand raising up towards Misao imploringly. "I'm a _doctor_. I read people well. I don't know who you are, but I know you are not in league with Kanryū. Please, I..." Megumi paused and in the faint light, Misao saw a glimpse of that unendurable pain again. "I need your help."

Her breath caught in her throat as Misao faced the doctor, torn by a fierce desire to help her. _I can save her,_ Misao thought quickly. _With her hidden, Kanryū won't be able to make more Spider's Web. I..._

The words blasted in her ear. _You must never show weakness or hesitation and you must never let your character drop. _

_I..._

_Do not fail me. _

With a snap of her wrist, Misao pushed the woman back against the seat cushions. Hard. "How dare you take liberties, woman," she spat out. "I'm taking you back to Kanryū right now and telling him that he _will_ get the secret of Spider's Web out of you now. Having only one maker is foolish. You _will_ tell us the secret..."

"No! No!" the doctor screamed out. "I am not going back to Kanryū! I won't let you take me!" Rushing forward, she grasped Misao's arms with hands that had considerable strength in them and began pushing hard. Misao made herself respond weakly, even through it would have been easy to break free from the woman's grasp and squawked loudly as the other woman attempted to wrestle her way out of the carriage. As they struggled, Misao managed to surreptitiously open the door with a twist of her hip and the door swung open out onto the dark streets. They were traveling along at a smart pace as Misao backed her way towards the door, letting the woman propel her forward but keeping her hands locked firmly around her opponent's wrists. _This is really going to hurt,_ she thought grimly.

It did. Misao's back hit the cobblestones hard, her head grazing the road as the woman's weight crashed down on her, knocking the wind out of her lungs. Fighting for a controlled fall, Misao rolled them both, taking most of the impact and leaving the taller, heavier woman sprawled on top of her and hopefully unhurt. As they rolled, Misao released the woman's hands then collapsed on the cobblestones, heaving and gasping for breath a tad more than necessary and watching closely as the woman immediately took to her heels and fled into the dark night._ Run! Run! _she thought as the carriage screeched to a halt and her footman and carriage driver raced towards her.

"Madam Noir, Madam Noir! Are you hurt?" they both gasped out in the worried tones of men who just realized that they had deeply failed their duties and that punishment was forthcoming.

"Get me back in my carriage and return to Mr. Kanryū's at once!" Misao ordered, wincing sharply as the aftereffects of the fall began making themselves clamorously known. Her servants carefully lifted her to her feet and gently set her back on the velvet cushions, bustling loudly, then turned the carriage sharply around to return to the place it had just departed.

_That hurt more than I expected, _Misao winced, carefully probing the tender spot on the back of her head. _However, I did not have much choice in the manner._ She could have "accidentally" pushed the doctor out of the carriage to set her free, but doing so may have injured the woman enough that she could not have escaped effectively. Besides, Misao had plenty of experience falling from heights and knew how to roll out of a fall in a way that decreased injury. With the increased layer of curves upholstering her slender frame, she also had a little more padding than normal to help cushion the falls. Also, arriving at Kanryū's doorstep disheveled and injured would only add strength to her tale. Grimly, Misao knew that she had no choice but to return to Kanryū and tell him what had happened. Her footman and coachman had witnessed the event, and hiding it from Kanryū would only raise his suspicions. Her only hope was that the doctor had fast legs and enough of a head start to find somewhere safe.

Megumi's escape, only a few minutes' old, had just started to garner alarm at the Kanryū estate when Madam Noir's carriage reappeared and the master of the premise was summoned forth to attend his guest. He was all tender concern and when she hurriedly explained what had happened, Kanryū insisted on Madam Noir exiting the carriage and coming back inside the building so that she could be examined by another doctor on the premise. The physician gently poked and prodded and finally declared Madam Noir to be bruised but not be seriously injured. Kanryū, meanwhile was interrogating his staff as to why his prized goose had managed to slip her bounds and he was distracted enough to not put up much of a fuss when Madam Noir asked to be returned to her carriage so that she could go home.

This time the carriage was mercifully unoccupied, and Misao carefully settled her bruised frame inside it, with the tender assistance of Kanryū. She smiled at him but wanted nothing more than to drag her weary, aching limbs back home and put them into the magnificent feather bed that was currently her most favorite part of her new quarters. As the carriage moved forward, the coachman taking extra care to drive the horses gently and smoothly, Misao's thoughts hovered anxiously on the fate of the doctor. She hoped fervently that Megumi had managed to escape and her mind chewed worriedly on the woman's situation all the way home where Tae was waiting to greet her with concern in her brown eyes. The troubled thoughts clung to Misao like winged shadows and they followed her into bed, clouding her dreams with darkness.

* * *

><p>"Snake eyes! Yeah! Eat that, Flecherman!" the tall, lanky young man roared loudly. "You're gonna be going home in your skivvies!" The room was low and small, crowded to bursting with men of all social ranks. Rich business men rubbed elbows with dockworkers, all eyes fixed on the dice rolling around on the floor. Not far from them, a cockfight was in full swing and three doors down, a pair of sweaty brawlers were slugging it out in a bare-knuckled fist fight.<p>

Standing immoble against a filthy wall, Aoshi surveyed the chaos before him with growing disdain. "Are you quite certain about this, Kenshin?" he questioned darkly of the slender redhead at his side.

A gentle laugh met Aoshi's inquiry. "Sano is a little rough around the edges, but I would trust him with my life. Besides," the light tone became serious. "One of his close friends recently died from a Spider's Web overdose. Sano wants to see Kanryū overthrown as much as you do."

Aoshi said nothing, but his eyes continually swept the room, testing the energies of the participants, alert for danger. Gambling and brawling seemed the primary amusements of this particular soiree, and there hadn't been any sign of drug use among the participants. Despite Kenshin's words, Aoshi seriously doubted they would find any useful information in this gathering, and the evening was quickly shaping up to be a dead loss. And then something caught Aoshi's attention, causing him to lift his head towards the door with a slight frown.

Kenshin mirrored the gaze and expression. "Someone is coming," he murmured and in a moment or two, a glorious woman burst into the crowded room, hair swishing around her like a banner and eyes flashing with defiance and fear.

The men turned to look at the newcomer, appraising eyes running over her frame as murmurs of interest rose and fell among them. The woman's eyes swept the room frantically and lit on the slender redhead, standing poised and calm and the handle of his katana visible from underneath the flowing Oriental garments that he wore at all times.

"Please save me!" the woman cried as she threw herself into Kenshin's arms, the redhead's eyes bugging outwards in surprise as a faint glow of red rose in his cheeks. "Terrible men are chasing me! Help me!" Kenshin froze, his eyes going round with shock as a deafening crash preluded the appearance of four men, Colts firmly grasped in their hands and dark expressions on their faces.

"Hey, you bitch! Get back here!" one of the men screamed as they stepped forward, mouth twisted in anger and a thick finger pointing at Megumi accusingly.

Aoshi's eyes narrowed as he automatically stepped forward to face the intruders. Kenshin neatly extricated himself from the woman's grasp and fell in at Aoshi's side as Sano rose to his feet, fists clenched. "What do you low-lifes want?" the lanky young man demanded.

A Colt was pointed at Sano's chest for his troubles, and Sano didn't flinch, merely stared at the handler with cool nonchalance. "Stay out of this," the gun's owner growled. "We just want the broad."

Kenshin's quiet but powerful voice cut through the scene. "I do not know what this is about, but I will not stand aside and watch a woman suffer," he responded evenly. "I am afraid you will be returning without her this evening."

"You bastard!" another man snarled as the other three Colts swung around to point at both Kenshin and Aoshi who had said nothing but whose hand had gone to the handle of one of his _kodachi_. "You've got three seconds to hand the bitch over or..."

With flawless unity, Aoshi and Kenshin flew forward in a blinding flash of movement. Two men went down, knocked unconscious by Kenshin's reverse-edge blade while the other two were suddenly minus a full set of arms; the guns, still clenched in the severed hands, flew across the room in a colorful splatter of blood.

Aoshi stepped forward across the carnage to one man who was cradling his fresh stump and screaming in pain. Seizing a handful of his clothing, Aoshi jerked the man up to eye level and demanded coldly, "Who sent you?"

"Mr...Mr...Takeda!" the man gasped through his agony.

"Who is this woman?" Aoshi interrogated.

"I...I...just...just a woman!" the man screamed.

Aoshi raised one of his _kodachi_ and placed the razor edge directly on the man's throat, pressing hard enough that a drop of blood appeared on the man's mottled, badly-shaven neck.

"She's...she's the only one who can make Spider's Web!" the man babbled out hurriedly. "Please! That's all I know. I..."

Aoshi let the man free. He collapsed in a blubbering, bloody mess at Aoshi's feet but the icy-eyed swordsman had already turned his attention to the woman whose face was radiating fear and defiance, eyes desperate and one hand clinging to the slender redhead at her side. Striding firmly over to her, Aoshi ignored Kenshin who quietly stepped between him and the woman, his energy blazing in protectiveness.

"Aoshi..." Kenshin began firmly, but Aoshi's eyes were fixed on the woman.

"Is this true?" he questioned quietly, each syllable like a stone.

The woman's face was as pale as milk and her hand clenched tightly on itself, then loosened. As her slender fingers opened, three tiny, paper-wrapped triangles fell out onto the floor.

Almost in a whisper, she responded, "_Yes_."

* * *

><p>"Three sugar lumps, please," the woman stated imperiously, back straight and head high as a queen as she sat regally in the well-worn chair.<p>

The younger woman holding the teapot seemed to be toying with the idea of dumping its contents over the first woman's head, and Aoshi smiled thinly to himself at the scene before him. Kenshin, Sano, and Aoshi were seated with the woman they had rescued in the rather shabby sitting room of Kenshin's fiancé, a fiery young woman by the name of Kaoru Kamiya who seemed to been much consumed with worry that Kenshin would forget the ring he had placed on her finger in favor of the beautiful woman seated at his side who was giving him a great deal of attention.

As Aoshi watched narrowly, Kaoru returned to the tea table, ostentatiously to prepare something but in reality to slip some salt into the woman's tea before handing it to her with a smile. The woman raised the cup regally to her lips and a most interesting expression crossed her face before she swallowed with some difficulty. Kaoru continued to smile pleasantly as she seated herself at Kenshin's side and draped her ring hand possessively over his arm, prominently displaying the gold band and blue gem on her finger.

Looking at Kaoru's storm-filled eyes, fixed sharply on the other woman, and the sweep of her black hair, Aoshi was reminded poignantly of Misao. Something jerked sharply in his innards as his attention was dragged from the present and pulled firmly back into the past.

_Misao, eyes dark with rage and flashing, hands trembling with emotion as if they wanted nothing more than to strike him. Her lovely mouth tight and indignant as her words hit him with the force of bullets. _

_"You could not have made me an offer of your hand in any possible way that I would feel inclined to accept it. I know and have known since our first meeting that you are the last man on earth I could ever marry." _

Try as he might, Aoshi could not erase the memory of Misao's contempt and hatred for him storming in her eyes. It had dumfounded, then angered him that his suit could have been so rigorously tossed aside but her reasoning for rejecting him had come as an uncomfortable revelation; night had seen Aoshi Darcy in a more agitated state than he had ever succumbed to before and even a long, intense session of sword practice had done little to ease it. Upon presenting Misao with his hastily-penned missive the next morning, Aoshi had determinedly plunged himself into his work, intent on abandoning this foolish endeavor to take to wife one who was far below him in rank and who had nothing but contempt and brusque rudeness to offer in response to his proposal.

But try as he might, Misao was constantly lurking on the edges of Aoshi's waking and sleeping thoughts. And now, seated in the parlor next to a girl who bore a striking resemblance in mannerisms and looks, the recollections were all the more pointed.

Sano's rumble interrupted Aoshi's thoughts. He had been staring intently at the woman with anger carved in every line of his face, his massive paw awkwardly cradling a tiny teacup in its depths. Finally Sano placed the cup down with a thump and rose to his considerable height. "Alright, I don't know who you are, but I want some answers and I want them now," he intoned significantly as he took several steps towards the woman. She shivered a little and moved in closer to Kenshin, one elegant hand resting on his shoulder as Kaoru glowered furiously at her.

Sano ignored them, stepping closer to the woman. "First off, what's your name?"

The woman tossed her hair dramatically. Unlike most ladies, her's fell in a long drapes past her waist instead of being properly pinned up on her head and her clothing was loose and full, a vaguely Oriental style like Kenshin's _hakama_ and _gi_. Giving Sano a defiant look, the woman pursed her full lips and said imperially, "Dr. Megumi Takani."

"Doctor, huh?" Sano rapped out sarcastically. Lifting his fist, he let loose two of the paper-wrapped packages that had fallen from Megumi's sleeve earlier that evening. They landed in her lap and she closed her eyes at the sight of them. "I didn't spend much time in school but I'm pretty sure the Hippocratic Oath says somethin' about not doing any harm. Making deadly drugs ain't exactly what a doctor's supposed to be doing."

"Do you think I _wanted_ to make Spider's Web?" Megumi spat out, her eyes flashing as she rose to her feet, facing Sano squarely. "I'm a _doctor_! I'm supposed to help people, not..." Suddenly the doctor's lovely face spasmed as her hands flew to her mouth and she collapsed back onto her chair, all eyes watching her keenly.

After a few moments, Kenshin turned to her and bent down so that he was kneeling in front of her chair, his eyes lower than hers. "Ms. Megumi, won't you tell us what happened to you?" he questioned gently. Kaoru had been chewing her lip angrily but at the sight of the woman's tears, some of her frozen anger seemed to be melting somewhat. Reluctantly, she pulled a linen handkerchief out of a side drawer and presented it to the crying doctor. Megumi took it with a dainty hiccup and delicately daubed at her eyes with it, but it was no act: the regret and agony welling up in her was palpable.

Aoshi, meanwhile remained unmoving in his chair, eyes taking in the scene carefully. _This could either complicate the situation or make it slightly easier,_ he thought grimly. On one hand, the newcomer would be a source of useful information. On the other hand, Kanryū would likely tear apart London looking for the only person capable of producing Spider's Web. While they had left the gambling den as discreetly as possible, traveling undetected as a group was exponentially harder than as a single unit and Aoshi would not be surprised if they had attracted a follower. Sano was well-known among the revelers at the den and his friendship with the flame-haired swordsman bearing a scar on his cheek was common knowledge. It would be a relatively simple matter of Kanryū's men breaking the right kneecaps until they got the information they wanted, which would lead them back to this small, rather shabby home of the only female-owned fencing school in London.

_They'll be here soon,_ Aoshi thought with the barest cant of his jaw. A quick glance at Kenshin silently telegraphed the information, and the red-head nodded almost imperceptibly. The flame-haired swordsman had proven himself time after time to be a useful colleague. Despite his diminutive frame, the man was fully capable of handling whoever Kanryū decided to send after the woman and protect his own from harm.

_The game just became...rather interesting, _Aoshi's long fingers ran absentmindedly up and down the handle of his _kodachi_, his mind full of thoughts.

_Your move, Kanryū. _

**Author's note: Is it important that Misao loves chocolate and Aoshi doesn't? He he, you'll find out soon! And hopefully the appearance of most of the Kenshingumi is eliciting rapturous fan-girl cries from my faithful readers. Getting suggestions and ideas from readers is one of the best parts of writing fanfiction. I love posting a story one chapter at a time and seeing how it develops based on feedback I get and ideas I dream up. It is much more fun than posting a story that is already complete and has no room for change. I do think I want to go back and change some of Chapter 1 because it is a little dry and nothing much interesting happens until Chapter 2. Thoughts? **


	12. To Warn the Innocent

**Author's note: I made some changes to Chapter 1 and 2, so please check them out! I wanted to make Chapter 1 a little more interesting and gripping as I don't think the original version best foreshadowed the action in further chapters. Hopefully it is now improved! **

Thick clouds heavily shrouded the streets of London, a welcome blanket for furtive souls slipping about the city intent on mischief. The streets were dark with night, feet scuffling in and out of the shadows as thieves, spies, and other riff-raff set to their grim work while honest folk scurried nervously home. With the moon hidden, the streets were more dangerous than normal.

The rooftops, however, were entirely a different matter, and the black-clothed figure climbing nimbly across them was neatly avoid the pickpockets, muggers, and ruffians swarming below. Eyes blue as crystals gleamed in the faint slivers of moonlight that shone through the clouds as small feet danced lightly across the roof tiles, moving smoothly over the rooftops and chimneys of London.

Her breath catching slightly in her throat, Misao breathed in the thick air as adrenaline coursed through her lungs. _About damned time I did this_, she thought gleefully. The infernal corset was at home, her small frame was clothed in loose garments that permitted ease of motion, and her muscles were singing with the joy of moving freely and being put to full use again. Misao felt her body instinctively leap and climb with gleeful exhilaration as she reveled in the ability to move as she had not done so for weeks. She was sorely tempted to hurl herself recklessly across the rooftops and she how far across London she could traverse before dawn. However, duty called but this time it thankfully required more muscle and less flirtation than it had hitherto demanded.

London was entirely different when viewed from the rooftops and once or twice Misao temporarily lost her bearings, but soon her leaping and climbing brought her to a well-known building, the scent of opium rising up to greet her as her nose wrinkled in distaste. Reflecting briefly that a few "accidentally" dropped lit matches might resolve the problem more speedily than the course she was currently bent on, Misao restrained the urge to play pyromaniac and pushed the thought aside. Kanryū was far too good of a businessman to let something like a burned building stop him – his entire empire had to be destroyed from the inside out for the whole operation to disintegrate into ruins. And the means for his downfall were buried inside the building.

Landing soundlessly on the roof of Kanryū's lair, Misao paused for a breather, bruises from her tumble out of the carriage the other evening making themselves loudly known and painfully aware that she was panting more than she had a right to. _I've lost far too much conditioning these past weeks, _she thought with a huff. Well, from what the young Phantomhive master had indicated, there would be more of these midnight espionage assignments, now that Kanryū had brought Madam Noir far enough into his confidences to show her the inner workings of his domain. She had been quick to note where the vital paperwork had been stored, and then there was the small matter of the window Madam Noir had surreptitiously unlocked during her visit the other evening, a window that slender Misao easily slipped through, ears keen for danger.

Inside was strangely deserted and unlit. Madam Noir had not been able to ascertain on her previous visit what sort of hours Kanryū expected his staff to keep, but Misao wondered if the missing Dr. Takani had something to do with the lack of activity present in the facility. However, with little time to ponder, Misao slipped quietly across the floor of the unoccupied building, every nerve alert for signs of life as energy coursed through her blood. This particular occupation had become much more dangerous; if she was captured, Kanryū would see through her disguise in a heartbeat, Misao knew it – the game would be up and she deeply doubted Kanryū would give Madam Noir or Misao Bennet any mercy.

Within moments, Misao's slender fingers, gloved to prevent fingerprints, were expertly picking the lock on a large desk which had several important-looking drawers. The lock was sturdy and well-cast but she had been foiling locks for years, and it quickly yielded to her deft probing with a slender bit of metal. The drawer pulled away to present stacks of papers, and Misao began riffling through them, eyes darting like a kingfisher, until they lit up a particular row of columns. _Perfect_.

Quickly Misao withdrew a tiny book and a drawing pencil from an inside pocket and began scribbling furiously, cramped letters looping themselves messily across the blank pages as she hurriedly began recording numbers and data. Page after page filled with notes as Misao bent over the drawer, eyes intent on her work.

The sound of a door opening sent her senses in high alert, and Misao quickly shoved the document in her hand back inside the drawer and pushed it shut, forcing herself to move smoothly and calmly as Kanryū's unmistakable voice grew closer. _Easy, easy,_ she warned herself as the drawer slid quietly shut, just in time for her to dart across the room and hide under the shadowy recess of a nearby table. The sound of footsteps grew closer and Misao heard another man's voice mingling with Kanryū's.

"I don't care what do you or what it costs, Bagrill," Kanryū's tones were sharp and hard, entirely different from the oily smoothness he had graced Madam Noir with. "Just get Takani back and now. We're losing money every second she's gone, and it is quite embarrassing having to explain to Mr. Sailder why the next shipment, which we _promised_ would be ready yesterday, is not on his doorstep. I will not tolerate such poor business practices, not will I overlook failure on your part."

"But, but Mr. Kanryū," the other man spluttered. "Fetching her back's going to be dead difficult. She had to go and run herself into the bastard Aoshi Darcy who chopped the hands off two of my men, damn him, and that red-haired swordsman Kenshin Himura..."

"Do I need to repeat myself, Bagrill?" Kanryū's voice became sharper and icier. "I said go get her back. Use whatever means you have at your disposal, but get her back. _Now_."

Crouched under the table, Misao stifled a gasp of complete shock. _Mr. Aoshi Darcy? s_he thought in stupefied amazement._ How on earth are __you__ wrapped up in all this? _Her mind flashed with memories as Misao suddenly recalled the wild dance she and the aforementioned gentleman had inadvertently attended together, her confusion at seeing Aoshi's disguised frame slipping through the steps of a dance. Then there was the letter pressed in her hand, its words searing her mind.

_In short, the Darcys have a long, silent history of engaging in certain activities solely for the purpose of gathering information to ensure the safety and prosperity of England._

Her thoughts whirling, Misao shook her head firmly to regain her senses. Kanryū and Bagrill were approaching her hiding place, and she held her breath, masking her energy, willing herself to stay hidden and undetected. Their voices grew louder.

Bagrill's voice was sullen. "Wasn't my fault the bitch made her escape. Whitehead should have been watching the door better."

"Well, most unfortunately for us, the good doctor is now safely ensconced in the Kamiya dojo under the protection of two expert swordsmen," Kanryū responded crisply. "However, I have yet to see a sword that can withstand a fusillade of bullets. Take whatever weapons you want with you and your men and bring her back to me."

"Yes, sir," Bagrill responded with extreme reluctance – the men were passing directly in front of Misao's hiding place and every sense in her body was screaming in alarm. With bated breath, she froze, her blood thumping in her ears.

Mercifully, the two men passed, Kanryū continuing to berate Bagrill as the subordinate grumbled loudly until they had passed through the room and disappeared, shutting the door behind them.

Misao made herself count to one hundred slowly, willing her pulse to stop racing and forcing her thoughts to cease dashing around inside her head. _How on earth did Mr. Darcy...? No, no time to think of that now. _Misao bit her lip worriedly. Regardless of how and why her defunct suitor had gotten himself entangled with Kanryū's business, he and everyone else Kanryū had mentioned were now in danger. _I have to warn them,_ Misao thought as she cautiously slipped out from underneath the table. Shooting a quick look at the freshly relocked drawer hiding the vital documents she had been riffling through, Misao paused, torn between duty and duty. The young lord of Phantomhive had made it explicitly clear that nothing was to come between her and the information she needed to gather, and there were further documents to be explored in the drawer, but Misao shook her head firmly. There were lives at stake, not only the ones bound up in the opium trade but also those hiding at this Kamiya dojo. She would not abandon the doctor to be recaptured and her rescuers to death. The rest of the documents could wait.

Stepping lightly across the room, Misao reached the small window that had been her entry point and quickly wriggled through it out onto the roof of the building, her heart beating. As Misao crouched on the roof of Kanryū's factory, she froze for a moment, wondering how on earth she was going to find this Kamiya dojo and quickly. After a moment of fast cogitation, a thought rose to her mind and Misao quickly clambered down the side of the building into the murky street below. Pressing her slender frame up against the smoke-encrusted brick walls, she waited patiently, eyes narrow and alert.

What she was seeking appeared after about ten minutes of careful watching – it was a street urchin of maybe seven, almost as filthy as the wall Misao was crouched against, and dressed in clothes so ragged they barely deserved the name. It was far too late for any child to be out, but London was full of street children in the thousands, scavenging for food and clothing as they could find it, all of them hungry and keen to make a penny. Smiling craftily, Misao locked in on her target, muscles gathering and bunching in her small frame, then she silently sprang forward.

The boy smelled disgusting, his odor almost gagging Misao as she locked a firm arm around him and pressed a hand against his mouth, pushing him up against the brick wall as he loosened several muffled yelps and aimed a few kicks at her legs. The boy's eyes were wide with panic and anger, every muscle in his skinny frame squirming until the flash of a coin dangling in front of his nose captured his attention and stilled his flailing limbs.

"See this?" Misao said, waving the coin at him. "It's yours if you can take me to the Kamiya dojo."

"Kamiya dojo, Miss?" the boy said in a strong Cockney accent. "Aye, I know where it is." A keen look came to the boy's eyes as they stared pointedly at the coin. "It's a fair piece oray."

Misao pressed the coin in his grubby hand. "There's another one if you take me to the dojo right now."

The boy grasped the offering greedily, and the coin disappeared in the recesses of his filthy rags. "Follow me, right, Miss," he stated. Misao let him go and the boy guided her out into the dark streets. He was as quick and slippery as an eel and Misao had a little trouble keeping up with him as he darted artfully through the streets, dodging small groups of shady individuals clustered in the darkness. Misao's eyes were divided between keeping the boy in her sights and watching carefully for signs of an impending assault from the shadowy figures they encountered. After a minute or two, the boy broke into a run, and Misao picked up the pace, her lungs beginning to expand, adrenaline giving her wings. The boy, although quick, kept one eye trained back on Misao, pacing himself so that she didn't lose his skinny frame in the dark streets.

As they raced their way across the cobblestones, the boy darted around a corner and collided violently with a huddled knot of men. One of them roared in anger and threw the boy aside, his small frame tumbling painfully to the dirty ground to land in a sprawling heap, yelping in pain as he clutched his right ankle.

Misao hurried up to him. "How bad is it?" she questioned quickly, eyes darting to the group of men who were sauntering over to take a look and not in a way that said they had in mind to be helpful.

"It 'urts bad, Miss," the boy whimpered, rocking back and forth slightly as the movement of the men caught his attention.

Misao ignored his overpowering body odor as she grabbed the boy's arms and pulled him upright. They were bird-thin under her palms and he seemed as light as straw. "Here, I'll help you," she said, trying to be kind despite the urgency of the situation. The boy had picked a most unhelpful place to take a tumble and most unfortunately the moon had shaken off its veil of clouds and a shaft of its light was illuminating Misao and the yelping boy, not to mention the men bearing down on them, grins beginning to appear on their faces. Misao's hair was bound back with a cloth but there was enough light for her obviously feminine facial features to be visible, something that was not lost on the men who were starting to surround them.

Automatically, Misao's right hand reached for the knife at her belt as one of the men called out to the others, "Hey there, boys, fancy a little playtime? This pretty little chickie looks like she's up for some fun." Growls of encouragement greeted his suggestion as the circle of men grew closer.

_Dammit_, Misao thought in panic but her body was already automatically responding, too intent on fleeing the situation to wait for her brain to formulate a plan of action. With a twist of her arms, she hoisted the boy's light frame on her back and burst through the circle of men, ducking their hands as she darted across the cobblestones. A roar of anger told her that she was being pursued and the boy, light as he was, was hampering her speed, not to mention that her short legs could not run quickly enough to keep ahead of the men. From the sound of it, they were rapidly gaining on her.

"Hold on to me!" Misao called to the boy and he quickly entwined his skinny limbs around her frame, freeing her arms. They raced around the corner, the men hot on their heels, and Misao spotted a crumbled bit of building presenting toeholds. Without really thinking, she leapt into the air, fingers scrabbling for a purchase on the slippery bricks. Only by the thinnest margin of error did she hoist them both out of the way, her feet narrowly missing the grasping hands waving just below her toes. Hand over hand, Misao propelled the two of them up the side of the building as the men roared in frustration below, too heavy and inept to follow.

Within seconds, Misao had scaled the wall and dropped down on the roof, panting with exertion as the boy rolled off her, his eyes round with admiration. "Cor!" he exclaimed loudly. "That was bloody brilliant, Miss!"

"Thank you," Misao panted, willing her thudding heart to stop pounding. After a moment or two, she inquired hurriedly, "How is your ankle?"

The boy was trying to put weight on it without much success , and he shook his head. "It 'urts, Miss. Sorry."

"Do not apologize," Misao said distractedly, eyes peering around her, then added, "What is your name?"

"Most 'eople call me Wood, Miss," the boy responded.

Misao coughed a little, feeling the thick London air catching uncomfortably in her lungs. "Well, Wood, do you think you can walk?"

"No, Miss," the boy shook his head. "Not well."

Misao cranked her head back and forth, feeling an ache in her neck as she considered her possibilities. "Well, Wood, do you think you could find your way to the Kamiya dojo from the rooftops?"

The boy's eyes grew larger. "Yer mean run about on the roofs like we just did, isit? Aye, I could do that."

"Good," Misao breathed out and unceremoniously slung the boy back against her spine. "I must get to the Kamiya dojo soon. Wood, you must lead me."

"Right yer are, Miss!" Wood wrapped his bone-thin arms around Misao who at this point had started to grow accustomed to his smell. A stab of pity and sympathy shot through her as Wood pointed a skinny finger about twenty degrees to their left. "Go that way!"

Taking a big breath, Misao pushed forward. The journey across the roofs was much hindered by the weight of the boy on her back, and she was completely unprepared for how much having a passenger would affect her balance. Once or twice she found herself flapping her arms in a panic, teetering on the edge of a roof and only righting herself at the last moment to avoid plunging them both into the dark streets below. Wood, however, seemed to show absolutely no fear whatsoever as Misao jumped and stumbled her way from roof to roof; once or twice she had to shush his excited squeaks of "Ohhhh!" and "Faster!" less the boy direct eyes upward and gain unwanted attention.

Misao was afraid that the lad would have trouble leading her from the rooftops; the view two stories up was much different than it was on the streets, and it was easy to lose one's way at an elevated level. But Wood confidentially pointed this way and that until he finally called out in triumph, "Right 'ere, Miss!"

Grateful for the chance to discharge her passenger, Misao slithered down the side of the building and thumped heavily on her feet, her sides heaving with exertion. Wood cautiously lowered himself to the ground but did not put any weight on his injured leg; supporting him, Misao kept an arm around his thin shoulders as she peered at the building in front of them. It was very late and by the light of the faint moon, Misao could just make out the faded words "Kamiya dojo" painted on the front of a shabby-looking facility. She hoped worriedly that someone was awake or close enough to the door to hear her frantic pounding but as Misao lifted a clenched fist to beat it against the worn door, it opened suddenly as a strange but intense energy poured out to meet her.

Stifling a yelp of alarm, Misao felt her hand automatically reach for her _kunai_ in response to the powerful energy radiating from the deceptively small, almost slight man standing calmly in the doorway, long red hair bound back at the neck and violet eyes examining her closely.

"Cor!" Wood gasped in surprise, goggling at the man. "You're a rum one, guv." Misao didn't blame the boy his outburst; the man was dressed in flowing, vaguely oriental garments and for one second she thought he was wearing a skirt. It wasn't until a breath of wind fluttered the garment that she realized it was bifubricated. But her eyes were quickly drawn to the sword at his side which he carried as if it were a part of his body.

"May this one help you, Miss?" the man said in a voice that rang with warmth and gentleness, belying the strength emanating from him.

"You...you're in danger!" Misao gasped frantically. "The doctor...Megumi Takani... Kanryū sent his men to fetch her back...through any means possible. They're coming." A fierce stitch tore through Misao's side as she clasped a hand irritably to her ribs.

The man's face betrayed not the slightest flicker of worry. "Are they now?," he responded calmly. "Well now, we can't have anyone being hurt. Won't you please come inside, Miss...?"

"Mi..." Misao snapped her lips shut and thought hard. No sense blowing her cover, even as tense as the situation had become. Remembering her maid's name, Misao quickly responded, "Tae."

"Tae," the man repeated and there was something about his smile that told Misao he knew the name was an alibi. Stepping aside, he motioned, "Please come in, Miss Tae, and your companion too."

"Yeah, Lady!" Wood rubbed a dirty nose on his equally dirty sleeve. "You owe me 'alf a crown, you do! I ain't staying outside, I am!"

"All will be settled, young one," the man said quietly. "Please come in." He motioned graciously inside the interior which showed a dark hallway and a faint glow at the end indicating a parlor. Biting her lip slightly, Misao moved forward with her arm still around Wood, but after a few of his stumbling attempts to walk, she bent and scooped him up in her arms, carrying his feather-light body inside. The dim corridor led to a small, rather shabby parlor but there was a bright fire on the hearth and two candles burning. Entering the room, Misao almost collided with a small young woman with vivid blue eyes and shiny black hair tied high on her head in a long ponytail. To Misao's surprise, the young woman was wearing the same type of outfit as the man, only the color of the fabric and the volume of her sleeves was different.

"Kenshin, I...oh!" The young woman stopped short, her blue eyes frankly appraising Misao, one eyebrow cocked high, then her attention was diverted to the grubby orphan in Misao's arms. But a gasp of surprise drew the attention of both young women towards the fireplace.

"You!" an elegant voice rose in the dim room as a tall, beautiful woman shot to her feet, agitation written over her lovely features. Misao recognized the doctor in a heartbeat and the two women locked eyes.

Automatically, Misao deposited Wood on a shabby sofa, her eyes never leaving the doctor. Desperation raged in Megumi's eyes as she viewed Misao. "Kanryū is coming for me," she stated in the voice of one who needs no answer. Misao nodded, feeling fatigue began to demand its due despite her efforts to beat it back. The doctor bit her full lip worriedly, utter despair and panic raging in her eyes, then she sank back down in her seat as if defeated.

The other young woman looked at the doctor, something like a struggle rising on her face before she said quietly, "Kenshin will not let Kanryū take you back, Miss Megumi. Don't worry."

"No, that I will not permit," the redhead announced calmly as he passed by Wood, casually lifting the boy's hand in the air to display a trinket clutched in his grubby palm. "It is not nice to take things that are not yours, young one," he stated calmly. "Ms. Kaoru is quite fond of that figurine." Wood's face twisted in a scowl as his fingers grudgingly loosened around the bauble and he settled back in the chair sulkily.

Casting an eye on the boy, the man said, "I think perhaps a midnight snack might be in order."

The blue-eyed woman sniffed but nodded her head. "I'll go find something in the kitchen. No sense waking Susan up at this hour." With a flutter of her strange garments, she disappeared.

The man's calm violet eyes swung towards Misao who was standing rigid and tense in the middle of the room and he made a low bow. "I am Kenshin Himura," he stated and the violet of the eyes intensified a trifle. "I am pleased to meet and your acquaintance, Miss Tae. My fiancee who just left us is Miss Kaoru Kamiya." The violet eyes slid quietly to the right as they settled on the agitated woman. "I believe you know our Doctor Takani?"

Megumi's lips were tight as her eyes raked Misao's face. "She helped me escape," the doctor responded, a trifle reluctantly, and her face was drawn with wariness and worry.

Misao nodded curtly. The late night and her exertions were weighing on her quite heavily, eating away her grasp on her temper and fraying her already worn nerves. Iit was almost maddening how calm the man was, and for one moment, she wanted to give him a good, hard whack to the head to make him take the situation more seriously. But there was not the slightest trace of worry in the man's frame. Courteously, he bent his head to the sulking boy and said politely, "And your name, young one?"

"Wood, guv," the boy ground out belligerently, his eyes fixed on a small painting of a Japanese lady perched on the table at his elbow, surreptitiously examining the trinket as if determining how to pocket it undetected.

"I am honored to meet you both," Kenshin responded, but Misao's nerves were screaming in impatience and she had no time for courtesies. Looking at the swordsman, she said intently, "Kanryū sent his men here. They are coming. You should flee at once." Her words were strong and the doctor writhed in alarm under them, but Kenshin's face betrayed not a glimmer of concern. Instead, he gave a slight bow again.

"Miss Tae, you are tired and probably hungry and thirsty. Please sit and refresh yourself."

"No!" Fatigue was setting Misao's nerves brittle and she actually stomped her foot in impatience. "Don't you understand me? Kanryū's men are coming! Here! Now! They will stop at nothing! They..."

Kenshin held a hand up. "Miss Tae," he said quietly. "I am very well aware of the danger. But, we are not alone here. Two of our acquaintances Sanosuke Sagara and Aoshi Darcy are nearby to lend their strength..."

"Aoshi is _here_?" Misao interrupted with something very much like a squeak. Stepping back a pace or two, she darted her eyes frantically around the room as if she expected the man in question to be lurking in a dark corner. _Oh no, no, no, not good,_ Misao thought frantically.

The slightest tinge of gold rose to Kenshin's eyes as he gazed at her. In a voice so quiet that she could barely catch his words, he questioned, "Do you wish to avoid contact with him?"

"I...please...I cannot have him see me here," Misao responded hurriedly. "Please, all of you," her eyes swept the room. "He cannot know I was here. It would endanger myself and him as well. I...I'm sorry but I must go. Please, do not mention me by name or appearance. He must not have a chance to hint at my identity for his sake and my own." Misao wasn't exactly being truthful. It wasn't as if Aoshi knowing her true identity would put him in harm's way, but she was very firmly convicted that he would be inordinately upset if he had any inklings of her current employment and would do everything in his power to prevent her from further entanglements with the Phantomhive manor. Besides, she did not know if the work Aoshi had hinted at extended to whatever involvements he had with this small group facing her. It was best if he was ignorant that she had ever entered the building.

Misao quickly turned to leave, but a gentle hand stayed her. The redhead was gazing at her intently and the slight touch of gold in his eyes was deepening. "Outside is dangerous, Miss Tae," Kenshin said quietly but she shook his hand off.

Wood's voice interrupted them. "Oy, guv, this one can run around on te roofs quick like. She's be okay." Kaoru had just entered with a laden tray and the boy was already grabbing all the edibles he could get his fingers on. Kaoru glowered at him darkly, but her expression softened as she looked at the boy's bird-thin arms and gaunt face. With a sad smile, she set the tray down at his elbow, letting the boy take what he wanted.

Turning to look at Kenshin, Misao said, "I will be safe, I promise." With a thin smile, she added, "I am sorry I cannot stay. Doctor," she shot a look across the room at the pale-faced woman. "I wish you all the best. I am sorry to leave you like this."

"We will fight, don't you worry. We'll keep the doctor safe," promised Kaoru. There was a cock to her head and a gleam in her eye that spoke of a fighting spirit, and Misao could not help but notice the proud, strong lift to Kaoru's shoulders. Glancing across the room, Misao noticed for the first time a sword resting in a stand on a nearby table and, gazing at the blue-eyed woman, she had a feeling that Kaoru knew how to wield it. Recognizing a kindred spirit, Misao nodded at Kaoru who returned the expression fully. For one moment, a spark of kinship passed between the two women, them Misao's head turned to the imp who was currently trying to stuff an entire sandwich in his mouth at once.

"Catch, Wood!" Misao said and two shiny coins sailed across the room. Wood snatched them from the air, his eyes wide. "Consider the second one a tip," Misao smiled.

"Cor! Thanks, Miss!" the boy exclaimed happily.

Misao nodded at him, then frowned slightly. Turning to Kenshin, she said quietly to him, "Wood helped me find my way to the dojo. I don't know anything about his family. He may be a street child with no one to care for him." Now that she and Wood had reached their destination and delivered her message, Misao wanted the boy out of the line of fire, but her navigator was currently quite comfortably plunked down on the worn sofa, eagerly cramming sandwiches into his mouth and seemingly not at all keen to leave. The doctor was now leaning at Wood's knee, carefully examining his injured ankle, and her lovely face was slightly furrowed in a thoughtful frown.

The redhead at Misao's side responded quietly, "I will allow no harm to come to the child. He will be cared for and protected. You have my word." There was reassurance in his tones, and Misao nodded at him. With that, Kenshin silently escorted Misao forward down the dark hallway towards the door.

Opening it into the dank night air, the swordsman glanced at Misao and said, "Be extra cautious, Miss Tae. There are many things that lurk in the streets and on the roofs."

"I will be," Misao responded. "Thank you for everything." With that, her feet took wings and fled Kenshin's side. She stood at the door, watching as Misao shimmied her way up the side of the building and disappeared into the dark night, her feet finding their pathway across the roofing tiles.

Violet eyes shimmered into amber. _Aoshi Darcy, you have many secrets. But this one thinks that there are many secrets you do not know. Will you find them out in the end?_

* * *

><p><em>Odd. I could have sworn...<em>Aoshi's brown furrowed in an almost imperceptible line as something tugged at his senses, wafting across the dark night towards him. Stilling his walk, he tested the air, reaching out with his senses. There was Kenshin's energy, strong and pulsing as it emanated from the building just around the corner, and Aoshi could feel the brightness of Kaoru's _chi_ mingling with Kenshin's and floating lightly over the worried, scared aura emanating from the doctor. But there had just been something that had captured his attention, a hint of warmth and familiarity that tugged at his attention in a way that almost ached.

The lightest of noises drew Aoshi's eyes sharply upwards and in the wan moon, he caught the sight of something moving rapidly away from the building across the roof above his head, light and swift but very much human. _Intruder_, he thought, muscles already tensing for pursuit. But he quelled the urge; there was nothing threatening or harmful left behind in the wake of whoever it was. Besides, Kenshin unquestionably had sensed the other person and the fact that the intruder was leaving the area said that the red-haired swordsman had not considered him enough of a threat to apprehend. Slowly, the tension left Aoshi's coiled frame but the sense of familiarity continued to niggle at him, brushing against his memory as if he was struggling to recall a long-forgotten dream or recapture a scent he remembered from his childhood.

Shrugging slightly, Aoshi tried to push the thoughts aside but they continued to dodge his steps, weighing on his mind as he stepped across the dirty cobblestones towards the dojo, mind alert and troubled.


	13. And Then There Were Four

**Author's note: I am a terrible, terrible writer. I have never abandoned a story for this long. But here is a chapter at last!**

Night and dawn were merging together in the dank, dark air as the faintest touch of wan light hovered on the horizon. Not a star twinkled over the non-descriptive dojo but the three silent occupants of the small parlor bore not a trace of weariness on their alert faces despite the very late hour. Aoshi's tall frame was seated elegantly in a chair, muscles loose but internally coiled for action, as Sano lounged indolently against the wall, hands shoved deep in his pockets and a slight frown on his roguishly handsome features. The slender redhead was seated on top of a long table, legs crossed and eyes closed as if in sleep, but there was no mistaken the alert wakefulness of every cell in his body.

The boy Wood was somewhere upstairs, full stomach, clean-scrubbed body (despite his protests), and sleeping peacefully. When Aoshi had returned to the dojo that night, Sano only a minute or two behind him, the men had eyed the new addition to their group with suspicion. "Who's the kid?" Sano rumbled with a scowl, then coughed. "You been rolling around in a pig pen, kid?" he scowled again, waving a hand in front of his face to dispel the ripe, sour scent of the boy's unwashed clothes and body.

"Woss it ter yer, guv?" Wood scowled back, the remains of his fourth sandwich dangling from his fingers.

Kenshin interrupted smoothly. "This is Wood. Wood has kindly informed us that Mr. Kanryū's associates will be visiting us shortly in attempts to reclaim Dr. Takani. Wood, I am honored to present to you my friends and colleagues Aoshi Shinomori and Sano Sagara. They are assisting me with protecting our doctor."

The boy smirked. "Not a bad Uncle Bob, right, huh, isit? Guardin' a pretty lady like that." He smirked again as the three men glowered at him. Cramming the rest of the sandwich into his mouth and reaching for a fifth, the boy continued, "She'll probably be right grateful ter yer for guardin' 'er, if yer know wot I mean." A knowing smile, far too mature for a boy of his age, lifted his lips to show off scummy teeth in desperate need of a dentist's ministrations.

Sano's face darkened. "Look here, you little rat," he growled and stepped forward to seize a handful of the boy's tattered garments.

"Sano," Kenshin stated quietly, but there was power in his voice that seemed to reverberate in the very rafters of the parlor. With a sniff of disgust, Sano dropped his hands from Wood's filthy garments but did not take his eyes off the boy.

"How do we know we can trust this kid?" Sano questioned darkly. Wood's bravado was rapidly deflating under Sano's rigid stare and he was inching backwards in his chair as if hoping he could slither behind the upholstery.

Smoothly, Kenshin responded, "Wood was brought to us a few hours ago by someone who is connected with the situation and was intent on notifying us of so that we could take the proper precautions."

"Who?" Aoshi spoke for the first time, his high brow furrowing ever so slightly.

"Yer don't need ter worry about it, right, she's trustworffy, gov," Wood began, then his words were muffled by a cookie Kenshin neatly inserted between his teeth.

Smiling gently, Kenshin finished for the lad, "Someone who wishes to remain anonymous. Since I trust the information given to us, we must prepare for Kanryū's arriving. We likely will not have long to wait." Silently, Kenshin's thoughts flew after the small, black-haired young woman who had brought them both the news and the child currently reaching for another cookie. While he had every intention of preserving the woman's anonymity, Kenshin deeply suspected that it would take little to encourage Wood to spill everything he knew. Ms. Megumi had already reported on her escape and the glamorous, black-clad woman who had subtly assisted her, and it would not take much for Aoshi to start connecting the dots if he knew the same rescuer had arrived on their doorstep in a different disguise. Yet, this "Miss Tae" had been almost frantically insistent that Aoshi have no inkling of her involvement in the issue at hand, and Kenshin was determined to keep it that way.

Sending the boy out of the house would have neatly removed him from danger and kept him from spilling the beans about "Miss Tae" but Wood was apparently quite happy where he was. "I can 'elp yer, guv," the boy insisted. "I can run messages and such, do wot guvnor! No bloke knows London better or can cop across it faster than I can."

Kenshin looked at the boy and asked quietly, "What about your ankle, young one?"

The boy triumphantly stuck his foot out to reveal that it had been carefully swathed in a pristine white bandage. "That doctor lady wrapped it up right smart," he announced. "It 'ardly 'urts at all. I can run on it if I need to." Despite the approaching danger, the lad clearly saw himself as having landing smack on the gravy train and was not at all keen on leaving a place so full of food, comfort, and small items he might get away with pilfering despite Kenshin's all-seeing eye.

In the end and after some tense discussion, the boy had stayed. Kaoru had hauled him yowling off for a merciless scrubbing before tucking him into a hastily-made bedroll on the floor and had also bullied the doctor into lying down, although the woman seemed far too tense and frightened to succumb to sleep. This left the three men to guard the parlor and wait in silence for the approaching battle.

Minutes ticked by, the small clock on the mantlepiece noting the passing of time with the rhythmic clink of metal gears. The hour had just chimed 4:30 a.m. when three heads lifted as one and swung towards the front door.

"They're coming," Kenshin stated quietly. In an instant, he moved from seated to standing, Aoshi and Sano falling in place behind him as the three men stepped across the room towards the hallway to meet the newcomers.

One lone streetlight, the gas bulb flickering dimly across the cobblestones, revealed an empty street as the three men stepped through the door, muscles alert and eyes calm but with slow fire building in them. They waited, poised and coiled, ears alert for the sound of intruders. They did not have to wait long; through the gloom of the streets came the tramp of feet making no effort to be stealthy and the heavy groan of something weighty and metallic being dragged forward.

* * *

><p>Tossing the silk covers aside fitfully, Misao rose to her feet and padded across the thick carpet, catching up a silk robe to wrap around her slender frame as she moved towards the heavy shuttered window. She pulled it open and strained her eyes forward into the darkness, searching anxiously for something to soothe her agitated mind. The streets in her corner of the city were comparatively well lit at nighttime and the only movement she could see were a few very late night carriages bringing their occupants home from the theater or opera or other places of amusement. The night was peaceful and serene and a faint suggestion of gray lightened the edge of the black horizon, but Misao was far too agitated to sleep. Resting her temple against the ornately carved window frame, she blew out through her cheeks as the events of the past several hours rushed back to her.<p>

_Clambering quickly through the window, Misao's feet landed on the lush carpeting as she felt the very last ounce of air rushing out of her lungs. Ever poised and controlled, the young Phantomhive lord eyed her with a slight frown. "Sit down," he commanded. "You look close to collapsing, Misao." _

_A movement at her elbow told her that Sebastian was offering her not tea but a glass of the finest, purest water money could buy, specially shipped from one of the earl's many country estates and not the contaminated muck that most people drew from the city wells or, even worse, the Thames. Not bothering with manners, Misao grasped the water eagerly and threw it down her throat, the silky liquid disappearing almost instantly. Sebastian quietly refilled the glass without being prompted, and Misao guzzled the second serving, a little slower than the first, and heaved a bit as her breathing began to slow down. _

_Ciel was eying her with a frown. "Is there a problem, Misao?" he questioned darkly. _

_Misao wiped away a drop of water from her lower lip. "No, just, well, the evening didn't go quite as well as I hoped." A slight spasm of warning shot through her as she hastily amended her statement, trying to be blasé about it, "I wanted to gather more information, but I was afraid of being detected, so I had to leave sooner than I would have liked." Fishing the notebook out of her clothing, Misao tossed it on the table between her and the young lord. "I did find a decent amount of information but I imagine that you will want me to return soon for more."_

"_I expected that you would have to. I didn't think one attempt would be enough," Ciel responded flatly, picking the notebook up. "Kanryū has far too complex of a business for one hurried midnight raid to garner all the information I need." The boy lord began scanning Misao's hasty notes, his brow furrowing as his one exposed eye took in the information. _

_Misao took a healthy gulp of her third glass of water. "There's more news," she stated, and she felt, rather than saw, Sebastian's eyes gleam in interest as Ciel's gaze swung up to face hers. Running a finger over the lip of the glass, Misao said, "There is a woman doctor in Kanryū's employ who is the only one who knows how to make Spider's Web." Her hand clenched slightly on the glass. "The doctor escaped this evening." _

"_Escaped?" Ciel's voice was hard as his blue eye flared like cold flame, boring into her. He was silent for a moment, then pronounced sharply, "I told you nothing was to interfere..."_

"_She escaped without my help," Misao responded just as sharply. "When Kanryū assisted me back in my carriage, I could sense that someone was waiting for me inside it. It was the woman doctor who had escaped her cell. We struggled in the carriage, and I let myself be pushed out of it with her. In the scuffle, she ran away. I returned promptly to Kanryū's to report this to him, and he had another doctor evaluate me to check for injuries. He won't suspect I had any hand in the woman's escape." Misao silently left out Megumi Takani's sharp eyes which had seen through her disguise and identified Misao as not whom she appeared to be. Misao also conveniently forgot to mention her shadow flight across London with an odorous street child on her back to warn the occupants of a small, shabby dojo buried deep in the city. Ciel would be furious if he found out and Misao was not convinced that her silence would keep her secret for long: she had quickly discovered that Sebastian inevitably knew far more than he let on, but her lips closed firmly, stubbornly locking the information behind her lips. If or when her omission was discovered, she would deal with the repercussions as they happened. _

_The lord of Phantomhive frowned again, but some of the sharpness left his expression as he pondered the fresh change of events. "Interesting," he folded his hands together in thought. "Well, I doubt the good doctor will keep her freedom long. Kanryū will tear London apart looking for her. It was a brave attempt but I doubt it will affect our planning overmuch. I am more interested in this," Ciel said, lifting the notebook up as Sebastian, following an unspoken command, took the book from his master and scanned it, a note of interest on his beautiful features. _

"_Dear me," the butler stated lightly. "It seems Kanryū has been less than honest about reporting just how much opium has been leaving his factory." Sebastian flipped a few pages, the briefest sign of a smirk rising to his lips. "As good citizens and responsible businessmen, it is our bounden duty to properly report all exports and imports and pay taxes accordingly, but Kanryū apparently does not share that sentiment." _

_Sebastian pondered the notebook in front of him for a few more moments, his face beatific. "In fact, based on these numbers alone, I would say that Kanryū owes the crown somewhat in the neighborhood of five thousand pounds in unreported import and export fees just for the past six months and that is not including taxes on said items." The butler tutted gracefully. "Her Majesty would be most displeased to receive this news." _

_Misao drained the last drops of water from the glass. "There's more," she said darkly. "Look at the last page of notes I wrote down." She hadn't been able to get a full report but from what she was able to ascertain..._

"_A warship," Sebastian said lightly. "I see our Kanryū's ambitions are grander than we had given him credit." With a graceful twist of his wrist, the butler returned the notebook to his master for perusal. Ciel read the last page silently, the furrow in his brow deepening. _

"_We knew that Kanryū was dealing with armament, but that was not our main concern at the time," the Phantomhive lord stated, tossing the notebook back onto the table. Misao remembered that during her evening tour of Kanryū's factory, he had briefly shown her a Gatling gun with a great flourish of pride, but her attention had been more on opium and she had paid the weapon scant notice. _

"_However," Ciel continued, his voice hardening. "Her Majesty will find this news of great interest. Bluntly put, it is an act of blatant opposition to the crown to construct a battleship for personal use, even more so to conceal all traces of this activity. As the Queen's watchdog, I will allow no threat to come to the throne. This will stop. Now." _

_Misao nodded tiredly as the earl of Phantomhive continued, "We will treat this with greater concern than Kanryū's opium production. Although Her Majesty is eager to know what lead to her nephew's death, this warship is a direct insult to the crown and I will not allow this threat to continue."_

_Lifting his piercing blue eye to the exhausted young woman facing him, Ciel ordered, "Misao, I want you to encourage Kanryū to disclose this matter to you. It is crucial that we gain all information we can about this battleship. Use whatever means at your disposal, but find out more about this ship and do it quickly." _

_At that moment, Misao could not help an enormous yawn escape her jaws. Her bruises from the tumble out of the carriage were yowling with protest, and the stress of the evening was tugging at every nerve. Tiredly, she pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling the beginnings of a dull headache throbbing at her forehead. _

_The young lord looked her over carefully as an expression of uncharacteristic concern, mild though it was, rose in his features. "Misao, you have done well, more than I expected from you," he said quietly, almost reluctantly as if the words of praise were being dragged protesting from his lips. "I need you at full strength. Go home and rest," he ordered, but there was a trace of kindness in his tones. _

_Misao nodded and rose a trifle unsteadily to her feet. "Thank you, my lord," she said with a slight bow and turned towards the open window, her tired feet already plotting the quickest route across the rooftops towards her quarters. _

Remembering the interview, Misao rubbed her eyes tiredly. Although her body was clamoring for sleep, her mind was far too keyed up to permit rest as thoughts of opium, warships, and spying filled her cranium. But overshadowing it all, dwarfing all other matters, was the entirely unknown fate of the small dojo and its few occupants. Three men to guard one escaped prisoner against Kanryū's determination to bring her back under his iron thumb. Misao knew that Kanryūwould send his finest and in full force, would expend whatever resources he had to gain back the doctor. Caught in the middle was the young woman Kaoru and the boy Wood, if he had thrown his lot in with the others and had not mustered up the sense to seek safer lodging elsewhere. And then, there were innocent bystanders who could easily be swept into in the fury of bullets and steel.

_Three men against an army,_ Misao thought with despair. And yet...that night, standing in the small parlor with tension and near-panic screaming in her veins, shehad looked fully into the eyes of the man named Kenshin. Violet they were, calm and peaceful, but in their tranquil depths was an ocean of strength, a force of indomitable will, a fire that glowed deep and powerful as lava flowing quietly under a peaceful landscape. Eyes that, in many ways...

_Eyes like Aoshi Darcy_, the unbidden thought flooded her mind. Misao recoiled as if something had punched her and for a moment, she felt very much like crying. With winged feet, her mind conjured up the image of Mr. Aoshi Darcy whose quiet presence spoke powerful volumes and whose ice-blue eyes, though normally cool and sometimes disdainful, held no less strength than the slender redhead with a sword at his side.

_Aoshi. There with Kenshin and the other man, Sano. Three men to face an army. _As much as Misao had sworn eternal vengeance on Aoshi Darcy for what he had done to her sister, his letter of explanation had brought many troubling questions to the surface which had ate away at her determination for his destruction. And even in her wrath, Misao could not prevent Aoshi's shadowy presence from slipping in and out of her dreams, much as the apparitions agitated her, nor the strange pricking at her heart whenever the gentleman's name was mentioned in her presence. And now, with real and most likely fatal danger in store for him, Misao did not wish a hair of Aoshi's head to be harmed, least of all by Kanryū's hands.

_Three to face an army. No, _Misao thought grimly, her feet already carrying her to the floor where she had unceremoniously dropped her ninja outfit after sneaking in through the window. Automatically, she slipped the garment back on, reaching for every knife she had at her disposal, even the ones buried deep in a secret chest that was hidden away from Tae.

_There will be four, I swear it, _Misao thought grimly. _Lord Phantomhive would not allow it. I don't know what help I can be. And I can't let Aoshi Darcy see who I am. But I have to go. I have no other choice. _

There was no time, not a moment to spare to scribble down a quick note to her family should Misao find only a bullet for her troubles. No time to get a message to her employer, although the young lord would simply send Sebastian after her to haul her away from the battlefield if he caught wind of what she was planning on doing. _A shame though_, Misao thought with a wry attempt at humor. _I have a distinct feeling Sebastian could courteously wipe the floor with every one of Kanryū's men without wrinkling his coat if he wished to. _But there was no Sebastian, no troop of enforcements, just one exhausted young woman with a fervent hope that long years of her father's training would be of some use and a grim determination to do what was right, no matter how foolhardy that may be.

Sliding the window back, Misao sniffed, breathing in a quick gasp of air scented with approaching dawn. It gave her fresh courage and energy and breathed life into her spirit. Filling her lungs again, Misao swung out of the window, fingers nimbly grasping the dark bricks as she disappeared into the pale darkness.

**Author's note: this is a short chapter before all the action of Chapter 14. I promise on my keyboard that Chapter 14 will not be long in appearing. Thanks for waiting patiently! **


	14. Blood and Steel

**Author's note – time for a skirmish as Aoshi, Kenshin, and Sano fend of Kanryū's forces with some unexpected assistance from a shadowy visitor and another RK character appears on the scene! **

_Forty-six. Kanry__ū did not stint, I see, _Aoshi thought grimly to himself, his ice blue eyes sweeping the horde clumping towards them, a lone gaslight throwing dirty shadows across rough heads and even rougher weapons. There were swords and clubs and revolvers in evidence, and no doubt more weapons tucked away inside grimy garments, but a mere glimpse of the approaching ranks gave clear evidence that the crowd was long on bravado and short on tactics. Men were strung out in disorderly chains, bumping into their comrades and shoving one another as rough laughter filled the streets, some of it, Aoshi suspected, amplified by alcohol. In a few of the men, there was a glassy gleam of eye and faltering steps that indicated a devotion to Kanryū's wares. The mob were led, if "led" was the correct word, by a short, chubby man gripping a torch and looking very much as if, given the change, he would abandon his position and scramble to safety.

_Pity, Kanryū, I expected better of you than this rabble, _Aoshi sniffed in disdain, but rabble or not, the men far outnumbered the three guardians of Kamiya Dojo. Bullets were considerably more challenging to dodge than blades especially if...

"A Gatling gun. Hmph," Sano's low rumble cut though the thick air. He was correct, at the back of the men was a lot of thumping and grunting of metal against stone that heralded the weapon's approach, its polished barrel gleaming wickedly in the dim gaslight.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, the rough brawler growled out, "Well, I don't blame him, look at these idiots. D'you ever see such pathetic bastards in your life?" Sano pointed his chin to the right, "Guy over there just walked into a door sign and knocked himself out." Sano was right, there was a brief flurry of noise as the downed victim collapsed in a squeal of pain and someone else tripped over him while a third man bellowed for order.

Sano gave a bored yawn. "I was looking forward to a good fight. This lot? Pfff."

Aoshi's eyes swept the crowd again, then shifted to the small redhead at his side, _chi_ rolling off the shorter man like heat radiating from hearthstones.

"Sano," Kenshin spoke quietly as Aoshi noted pure-struck gold rising in Kenshin's normally violet eyes. He smiled grimly to himself as Kenshin continued, "It is never wise to underestimate a foe. Disorderly or not, they far outnumber us. Caution is called for." Aoshi's eyes were flickering back and forth between the slender swordsman and the amassing ranks pushing towards them, and his glance tighten. It was true that the collection of men were an unruly lot and several looked as if was taking all their mental and physical effort simply to put one foot in front of the other, but as a whole the men were well-armed and obviously spoiling for a fight. And then there was the shining barrel of the Gatling gun being shunted into position.

But Kenshin had already seized control of the situation. In a voice surprisingly powerful for one so diminutive, he addressed the crowd, his small frame unmoving and rooted firmly in front of the dojo. "I have no wish to see bloodshed here tonight, but if you continue forward, there will be blood and none of it will be mine or my companions."

The pushing ranks of men came to a jerky haul as a collective rumble, heavily laced with the beginning pricks of fear, rolled through the mob. Even in the dim gaslight, Kenshin's eyes were visible to all but the shorter interlopers lurking in the back, and it was clear that none of the crowd welcomed the quiet fire emanating from those golden orbs nor the powerful energy pouring from him. A few nervous laughs, emphasized by bravado, sounded in the gloom, but the noise died away quickly as Kenshin's eyes glowed. Already, one or two men along the edges were starting to casually melt into their surroundings and pretend to be innocent bystanders.

Sano's grin was like a knife. "You heard the man," his lazy rumble sounded. "None of you look like you're wanting your teeth shoved down your throat, so why don't you all scram? I got bigger fish to fry than you lot and better opponents to fight."

_Not exactly helpful, Sano,_ Aoshi's eyes narrowed as the fingers of his right hand began flexing ever so slightly, poised to draw his _kodachi_ in a heartbeat. Wherever the lanky brawler's talents lay (although as far as Aoshi had discovered, they did not extend past artful freeloading and an astounding ability to pick fights wherever he went), it was clear that diplomacy was a skill Sano resoundingly lacked. The massed crowd before him, clearly displeased that their opponents were failing to show any sign of fear or intimidation, was gathering courage from their numbers and fueling it with outrage over Sano's insult.

_Fine, _Aoshi sighed inwardly. _Fight if you must, you fools. You will not win. _Aoshi was not quite as sentimental as Kenshin when it came to offering protection to all who requested it, and he was not exactly eager to shed blood in defense of a woman whose actions, even though unwitting and forced, had caused more death and suffering than he could wreck in this battle pressing against him. Yet if captured and brought back to Kanryū, the doctor would only be forced to perpetrate more misery and deaths. With her absence, Kanryū's power and influence would be much lessened and his empire all the more easy to topple. And...Aoshi had seen the eyes of Megumi Takani, agony and remorse and a desperate cry for redemption rolling in their depth. As a gentleman and a warrior, he could not simply step aside and let her be retaken.

_So it will be battle then_, Aoshi thought as he smoothly drew his _kodachi_ in one fluid motion, the well-tended blades gleaming in the dull gaslight.

"Aoshi." Kenshin's quiet voice reached his ear. Aoshi did not take his eyes from the teeming crowd in front of them which was starting to bay for blood, but he bent his head slightly towards the red-haired swordsman.

"I would ask that you try not to kill if you possible can." Kenshin's voice had grown slow and heavy, the _chi_ building in his words like an oncoming storm.

The barest hint of a frown edged Aoshi's mouth. "We are heavily outnumbered_._ They have chosen to confront us and have refused our offer to leave in peace. They brought a Gatling gun with them which causes widespread damage. It is not only the lives of those inside the dojo we protect but any bystander that could be harmed." The small dojo was crammed between rows of shops and small apartments, and bullets from the Gatling gun easily could tear through wood and glass. The civilian casualty list could be quite high if they did not act decisively.

Aoshi knew that Kenshin has sworn an oath never to take a life again and out of respect for his companion, he had refrained from killing in the few battles they had fought together. But never had they faced this many before, and Aoshi lacked both the _sakabato_ that Kenshin carried at his side and a moral compunction against taking a life if need demanded.

"You ask much of me," Aoshi said darkly, noting that several men up front were holding themselves tense, seconds from springing forward into an attack. _Not the most opportune times to discuss battle tactics_, Aoshi muttered to himself.

A slight smile rose on Kenshin's face, contorting the cross-shaped scar on his cheek. "I prefer to think of it as placing a high confidence in your fighting skills, my friend."

That earned a sniff of something like amusement mixed with an audible eyeball roll from the tall swordsman, but a second later it was replaced by a barely perceptible nod as the first of the attackers charged forward, clubs and pistols waving.

* * *

><p><em>Almost there, <em>Misao panted, hurriedly drawing in gulps of sticky London air as she raced across the top of the building. Without Wood as her guide, she was half-afraid she would lose her way and arrive too late, but her sense of direction had always been preternaturally keen and once she had visited a place, she had little trouble finding it again. The dojo was just a few blocks ahead, she could sense it, and as the wind shifted her direction, she could begin to hear what was up ahead – distant cries of rough voices and bellows of pain were lifting on the breeze, and Misao's feet quickened as the sounds reached her ears.

_Almost there! _Misao thought again, her right foot scrabbling for a purchase on a slick line of moss growing on the brick wall she was summiting.

_I'll make it in time!_ The skitter of a flock of roosting pigeons fluttering away from her feet as she darted across a roof and jumped into empty air, toes and fingers reaching for her landing point.

_And then what? _The silent but essential question smacked into her like a punch and for one brief second, Misao hung in space, time suspended. Then gravity demanded its due again and her body smacked against a grimy brick wall, her fingers desperately clawing for a firm handhold as her mind pressed forward with the question. _You have your knives and your training. But can you kill? Truly?_ Misao caught the tip of something rough but firm and clung to it grimly, her mind ignoring the peril dangling below her feet as it hammered the question home.

_Are you fully committed to this venture, prepared to take a man's life and possibly several, not to defend yourself from an attacker but to willingly involve yourself in a battle to help save others? _Air in her lungs, whooshing in and out as she pulled herself to safety and then ran forward again to embrace another jump into the darkness, her feet hitting lightly and her body rolling to absorb the shock of landing. Dawn was flitting along the horizon, but the streets were still dark with shadows and polluted air.

_Can you do this? Can you live with blood on your hands? Can you risk your own life to involve yourself in a cause that you have no duty to and ally yourself with people you barely know? _The clip-clop of horse hooves in the streets below as a drunken voice rose up in a rancorous song, the caroler oblivious to the slim shadow ducking and clambering in the eaves above his head, her mind spinning with demanding questions.

_I...can I?_

_Should I? _

_Must I?_

Unbidden, Misao's mind conjured up images which danced in the line of her vision, beckoning her. A slim young woman with fierce determination in her eyes. A young boy, filthy from the streets but unbowed by his desperate life, who had clung to her back like a monkey and led her forward into the night. A doctor turned murderer, desperate for forgiveness and freedom. A man with eyes like quiet flame and hair to match the burning fire of his gaze.

_And one..._

_One whom..._

_I will. _

_I must. _

_I'm here. _The screams of battle were piercing the air, steel crashing against steel and erratic gunshots ringing out as Misao's feet landed on the top of a building. Instantly she raced to the edge of the roof to survey the battle roaring in the dim streets below. By the sluggish glow of a gaslight, she could see a chaotic scrum of men, dozens of them churning in the streets, bullets flying and clubs waving.

There were three with their backs to the dojo, fending off the oncoming ranks. A tall, lanky fellow was, to Misao's complete astonishment, wading into the battle empty-handed, men falling unconscious from the force of his knuckles against their jaws and stomachs. The red-haired swordsman Kenshin was a cyclone of movement, steel blade slicing lightening fast arches through the air, leaping and soaring as if weightless but bringing down the force of heavens in every stroke. But for every man that fell under him, there was no blood, and Misao froze to see this, her mind confused and marveling.

_He has no edge to his blade! _she realized with a sudden bolt of clarity. The revelation was so strikingly novel that she almost laughed in astonishment. What swordsman would carry a blade that could cut neither flesh nor bone? Yet despite his lack of edged weaponry, Kenshin was astonishingly, almost inhumanly skilled and Misao could scarce tear her eyes from him but, anxious to determine Aoshi's fate, she quickly scanned the crowd and froze, her heart thudding in her chest.

Aoshi Darcy was magnificent. There was simply no other word that would describe the polished flawlessness of every movement, the speed and pinpoint accuracy of every twist and thrust, both blades flowing in perfect harmony. Men pressed upon him from all quarters with swords, guns, and spears: singularly and in groups they fell away in bloody heaps of screaming agony. To Misao's astonished eyes she saw that although Aoshi carried two sharp swords, the men he hacked at were losing nothing vital – hands and legs were flying and blood was pattering like rain, but as he cut a bloody swath through their numbers, he was leaving live bodies behind him.

_Three warriors against dozens and yet they do not kill, _Misao marveled, her brows furrowing into a dark line of concentration. But the thought of three harried her to the task at hand. The men were greatly outnumbered and she had come to help balance the odds. Poised on the roof, Misao twisted her thoughts frantically, quickly calculating her next move.

* * *

><p>The man's right arm flew away in a colorful spurt of blood, the Colt revolver clutched in its still-twitching fingers. Aoshi quickly pushed the screaming, writhing man out of his way and blocked a very inexpertly handled sword thrust before burying the pommel of his left <em>kodachi<em> into the attacker's stomach.

_You ask much of me, my friend, _Aoshi thought grimly as he sliced another man's torso from hip to sternum, shallow enough to not be life-threatening if he received prompt medical attention but deep enough to take the fight out of him. Although Kenshin wholly believed that sparing lives was absolutely vital, Aoshi was not convinced that leaving still-living men behind after he had divested them of a limb or two was any more merciful. Personally, he would have gladly chosen death over the loss of an arm or leg, but Kenshin's request was pressing upon Aoshi and the steadily growing piles of bodies surrounding them contained few dead ones. However, there were many attackers and rendering them useless for fighting but still alive required intense concentration and control, especially since bullets kept factoring into the equation.

Even so, immersed in the thick of battle, Aoshi's mind was collecting information by the millisecond, carefully triaging all data that flowed in and feeding it to appropriate quadrants. Even as he ducked and smoothly rolled out of the way of a wicked swipe at his head with a pike stave, Aoshi was naggingly aware that the Galting gun was still silent. There had been bullets, but all had come from hand-held revolvers. It was the Galting gun that had worried him the moment he sensed it rolling their way, and he suspected Kenshin and Sano shared his concern. Dodging a fusillade of bullets from the Gatling gun would take skill that he was not entirely confident he or Kenshin wholly possessed and Sano even less so.

But there was no sound of the Gatling gun and although Aoshi was steadily cutting his way through the crowd to where it was being wrestled into place, it had yet to discharge its lethal volleys. _Excellent. Stay that way until I can reach you_, Aoshi mentally commanded the weapon as he plowed through the massed crowd, swords flying like propeller blades.

* * *

><p>"Come on, you bastards, get this gun into position!" Bagrill barked viciously at the three struggling men. "We're getting slaughtered out here!" The men were tugging frantically at the weapon, hands busy, but the gun had yet to fire and Bagrill was growing increasingly paranoid that they would lose this fight. Despite their sheer numbers, their three opponents were showing no sign of slowing down and Bagrill was being tormented by both a growing worry that their foes had a very good chance of winning and a deep conviction that he had brought far too few men with him.<p>

"The damn hopper keeps jamming!" one of the men yelled back. "I think we got the wrong-sized bullets. They're catching in the chute. Who's the mother-loving' bastard that filled the hopper last?"

"What?" Bagrill bellowed, fear and anger warring for their chance to grab control as he elbowed the man out of the way. "Get your incompetent arse outta the way, Cornwell," he ordered. The light in the street was terrible and Bagrill could barely distinguish any of the gun's features, but he pressed his face close to its components while the three other men continued to fuss with various parts in frantic efforts to fix the problem. Which is why they completely missed a small, shadowy figure sneaking up on them with a length of iron bar.

Four unconscious bodies tumbled to the ground and in the midst of screaming battle, none of their comrades heard the noise or came to their rescue. Thus, Misao had a clear-cut opportunity to not only unscrew the crank shaft of the Gatling gun and throw it far away into the darkness, rendering the weapon unusable, but also shove a small rock inside each barrel so that, in the off chance that the crowd had a spare handle somewhere in their equipment pile, they were in for a nasty, not to mention, explosive, surprise if the gun was pressed into use. Misao quickly surveyed her handywork and seeing it was accomplished, spun around to face the teeming battle squarely.

Something hard closed on her ankle, freezing her into place, and Misao's eyes darted down to see one of her clubbing victims clutching her foot with an iron grip. Misao neatly kicked him in the mouth with her other foot and darted away, her right hand reaching for a knife at her belt as she surveyed the battle before her. Aoshi, Kenshin, and Sano were doing a marvelous job rendering a mob of angry, blood-crazed men into piles of groaning bodies, but Misao's lips twisted in a thoughtful frown. For all the struggling taking place in front of the dojo, there was a backside to the building that could be infiltrated by any man clever enough to realize sneaking around to the opposite side was probably a much more profitable and decidedly less fatal route. There was a narrow alley running between the dojo and the next building, and it would be quite easy for someone to slip down it and attack the building from behind.

No sooner had this occurred to Misao than she was quickly scaling a building, preferring a more secretive route across rooftops than trying to push her way through the bloody chaos of the streets. She would leave most of the mob in the very capable hands of the three men protecting the dojo and guard the back for any intruders that might try their luck at a different entry point. Moving across rooftops to the backside of the dojo was the work of only a minute or two and Misao was soon perched on a window ledge, clinging to the side of the Kamiya dojo like a spider on a web, her bright eyes sweeping the dark alley for sign of an intruder.

"Wotcher, miss," a voice at her ear startled Misao greatly and she almost fell off her narrow perch. "Excitin' ain't it?"

"Wood!" Misao screamed in a whisper. The boy was leaning casually against a small open window directly to her left, and there wasn't the slightest sign of fear on his face.

"What are you doing?" Misao snapped. "Get back inside and lock the window! There is a battle outside."

"Oh I wouldn't be too worried about that," Wood assured her lazily. "Our fellas there are grand fighters. They'll 'ave Kanryū's men sorted out quick like."

"Get inside. _Now_," Misao growled, amplifying her words as she moved towards the window and shoved her slender frame through it. Unfortunately her hasty movements coupled with the dark interior meant that Misao had no clue as to what was underfoot and ended up inadvertently landing on someone as she wriggled through the window. Silky hair pushed against her arm and a tangle of limbs thrashed as a voice yelped, "Ouch!"

"Sorry!" Misao gasped, trying to disengage herself from the writhing person who was currently serving as her landing cushion.

"Miss Tae?" said the voice, somewhere in the vicinity of Misao's left knee.

"Miss Kamiya?" Misao responded as she pulled herself free and scrabbled on the floor to see if she could assist her human pillow.

"You again!" a third female voice rose out of the darkness, bringing a soft glow from a candlestick with it. It was the doctor, tall and pale and lovely in her terror. The candlestick was trembling in her hands, a few drops of wax shaking loose and falling to the wooden floor.

"Miss Megumi?" Kaoru rolled up smoothly to her feet and stepped lightly across the room to retrieve the candlestick from the doctor's shaking fingers. Setting it firmly in a convenient niche, she shot a queer look at Misao. "Why have you returned, Ms. Tae?" Her voice was polite, but Misao could sense the cool wariness in her tones and the way the young woman was measuring her up carefully.

Misao set her jaw and drew herself up to her full height. "I decided I could not leave you to fight alone. I knew Kanryū would send his men in forces and I could not, in all honor and decency, leave you to fight so outnumbered."

Kaoru's look softened and she gave Misao a companionable nod. "Thank you." The two young women exchanged a meaningful expression, and Misao fleetingly wished she had met Kaoru under better circumstances. She had a deep-seated feeling that they would become fast friends. But there was no time.

"Oy, Miss," Wood interrupted them. "Why are yer in 'ere, right, ffen, isit?The bloody fightin' outside."

"What about behind the building?" Misao questioned darkly, and Kaoru's eyebrows drew together thoughtfully. It was just at this moment that Misao realized Kaoru had a wooden sword gripped in her right hand.

"I had thought about that," Kaoru responded darkly.

"Then we wait and listen," Misao was already stepping towards the candle and blew it out with a puff, then crossed back to the window and shut the door almost all the way, leaving a crack behind to let the noise of outside float in. The room was plunged into silence, but they only had a moment or two to wait before Misao's sharp ears caught the muffled scuffling of people approaching the backside of the building.

A hand touched her shoulder, and Misao silently followed Kaoru down the stairs, both young women hurrying through the dark. They slipped down the stairs and through a dimly lit passageway until they reached the scullery door which Kaoru threw open.

It was blacker than the inside of a clam, but a lone candle in the passageway outside leaked faint light into the room and revealed a door leading outside. Pointing to it, Kaoru put her finger to her lips and both women froze, ears alert for the slightest sound.

There it was, the scratch of metal and someone fumbling at the door, attempting to force the lock. Misao leaned towards Kaoru and breathed in her ear, "_Is there room enough here for you to swing?_"

"_Not much_," Kaoru whispered back, and Misao could see her bring the wooden sword around to grip it tightly. Misao frowned deeply. If this scullery was like the one at home, there wasn't room to swing a teaspoon, let along a three foot weapon.

Kaoru's voice drew her ear, "_There's a small window in the next room_."

Misao's hairs pricked on the back of the neck as a plan rushed to her mind. "_Go out the window and_ c_ount to ten as you do so. Attack at ten and I will throw the door open and attack as well." _As far as battle manuevers go, it wasn't quite the best, but nevertheless Kaoru nodded and disappeared. Misao moved silently to the door, counting in her head as one hand poised over the lock and the other closed upon a _kunai_ at her belt.

_Eight...nine...ten. Now!_ With a quick twist of her wrist, Misao undid the lock and threw her full weight at it, such as it was. Whoever was crouched behind the door clearly did not expect it to come flying open, and Misao heard a satisfying thud of impacted flesh as she rocketed forward. A battle cry from Kaoru and a whacking sound told her that the wooden sword was being put into full use. Quickly, Misao spun the lock on the door, then kicked it shut to lock it tight again. No sense leaving an open door to anyone who was looking for a way inside. Although the sky overhead was gray with the coming dawn, the dark alleyway outside the door was almost completely black, and Misao could only glimpse shadowy figures as she flowed and ducked amidst the darkness. Praying she wouldn't end up accidentally stabbing Kaoru or getting clunked on the head with the wooden sword her fighting companion was wielding so effectively, Misao slashed out at a rough hand that suddenly grasped her arm. The hand loosened as a scream of pain filled the air.

A bullet shot rang out, and Misao gasped as fierce pain tore across her arm. Blindly, she stabbed at the dark bulk that was grasping the weapon and blood splashed into the air. He went down, Misao's _kunai_ buried in his abdomen.

Dirty light pierced the darkness as a window opened above their heads. In the wan light that spilled out from the open window, Misao could see that there were six men filling the dark alley, one was down and bleeding from the gut and two more were staggering away with Kaoru-inflicted blows to their heads. A fourth was bleeding but upright and glaring with murderous anger at the two women.

_Seven. My mistake, _Misao thought as rough hands seized her from behind, locking her in place with ferocious strength. Using all the dirty tricks her father had taught her, Misao desperately tore herself loose all but one wrist which was still held tight by the man. She twisted and strained, the other hand tearing for another knife at her belt.

Suddenly, the pressure was gone and the man was tilting gently towards the earth, a peaceful smile on his face. "Oye! Miss!" Kaoru's eyes shot upward to see that Wood was leaning through the open window waving languidly at her, a heavy object in his hands. A quick glance down told her that her former attacker had served as an unexpected drop zone for another heavy object that, from the looks of it, was originally a vase and was now a lot of disassociated pottery shards.

"Thank you, Wood!" Misao called and ducked out of the way of another assailant. A click of metal warned her and instinctively her knife buried itself into the man's side, its sharp blade slipping through ribs clear through to his lungs. He fell under her as Misao whirled around to see another man collapse to the ground under the force of Kaoru's blows.

This left one attacker and as they both turned to face him, he realized he was suddenly without backup and took to his heels. _He will warn the others,_ Misao thought grimly and almost without thinking a knife left her hand and sliced through the air. With a quivering thump, it embedded itself in the back of the man's neck, slicing cleanly. He fell without a word, his bloody corpse falling to the dirty cobblestones.

Shaking, panting for breath, Misao sucked air deep into her lungs, her ears straining through the darkness for villainous reinforcements, every nerve poised for the next attack. Dimly, she was aware that the noise from the other side of the building was lessening and faintly she caught the sound of a bobby's whistle raising in alarm.

Shooting a look at Kaoru, Misao called out. "Stay here. I will check the front." As quick as she could, Misao clambered nimbly up the side of the building to race across the roof and survey the battlefield from above where she could have a better view of what was happening .

It was clear that the fight was dying itself out. Much to her great relief, the three warriors were still upright and going strong and the number of Kanryū's men who were still on their feet was rapidly dwindling. The Gatling gun had been abandoned, its useless barrel pointed impotently at the dojo and several men clearly had decided that the entire fight was a lost cause and were fleeing the scene. The sound of police whistles was louder and closer, and victory was assured. Nodding to herself, Misao moved back to the building to beckon Kaoru inside.

* * *

><p>"Hold still," the doctor said firmly, and Misao grudgingly admired her firmness. Even as the last of the battle was dying outside and police officers were beginning to invade the scene, the lovely Megumi Takani was elegantly posed over Misao's bullet wound, her slender fingers probing it gently and her attention wholly concentrated on her patient.<p>

Misao winced again as the doctor pronounced. "Just a shallow wound. It does not need stitches. If you wait a moment, I will fetch my medical kit."

"No time," Misao grunted, rising to her feet. "I have done my duty to you and now I must go. I wish to avoid detection."

But Kaoru's fingers were lightly gripping Misao's uninjured arm. "I wish you would stay, Ms. Tae," Kaoru said quietly. "Is there some danger you are in that you must keep your anonymity? Perhaps," her eyes grew kinder, "Perhaps we can help you."

Misao gave her a tired smile. "Thank you, but no. I fear my situation is beyond your assistance. But I thank you all the same." Frowning, Misao shifted worriedly. She could tell the building was quickly being surrounded and knew that leaving the scene undetected would soon be particularly difficult. But there were windows and injured arm or not, she could still climb.

The doctor dusted off her lovely hands. "Come to my room and I will give you an ointment before you leave. It will heal your wound quickly." Misao started to protest when the older woman gave her a peevish look. "Aoshi and the others are outside. They will be too busy settling this matter with the police to bother us much inside. Come here. At least I can do _something_ to help." Tightening her lips, the doctor seized Misao's hand with an imperial air and took up a candlestick with her other hand.

Misao let herself be towed back upstairs and accepted a small vial of some concoction the doctor pressed into her hands before she said a hasty goodbye and sought a window, anxious to leave the scene before she encountered Aoshi.

* * *

><p>A slender finger of rosy dawn poked through the dim greyness as Aoshi stood silent on the rooftop, eyes critically surveying the battlefield below. His brow furrowed in thought as his gave the landscape a second sweep of careful scrutiny. There were seven downed men at the back of the building and two of them had knives buried in their flesh, injuries Kaoru could not have inflicted with the <em>bokken<em> at her side. Aoshi had pocketed one of these knives for leisurely examination later to see if the blade held any clues to its owner's identity. There was the Gatling gun, curiously absent of a crank handle, which had not fired a single shot during the entire battle. And then there was the matter of a strange, tantalizingly familiar energy Aoshi had perceived at some point during the struggle. It had danced in the air and tugged at his senses, demanding his attention despite the press of battle, and it nearly drove him mad with trying to place it. And even now, it...

_Someone is coming. _Aoshi felt, rather than saw, movement behind him and he rotated smoothly to glimpse the faint outline of a small figure crouching on the rooftopsas if poised to spring.

* * *

><p>"Stop." A voice, quiet and powerful and all-too familiar, cut through the air, freezing Misao in her very tracks. She did not need to turn around to know that Aoshi Darcy was several paces behind her, nothing but empty air and dark shadows between them. Instantly, Misao's mind recalled the words of a long-ago lesson with her father.<p>

"_Faces can be easily disguised," Okina had stated. "But bodies, height, the way you walk, those are harder to veil and unfortunately are very distinguishing characteristics. If you want to avoid detection, you must ensure that none of your features are presented as they really are."_

As her father's words flowed back to her, Misao willed her shoulders to take on a rounded slope, her lithe frame tuck in on itself to mask her limbs, her head coil to her chest to keep her profile from Aoshi's view. Although the dawn sky was streaked with color and a vivid sun was stretching over the horizon, the grime and smoke of London was not easily dissipated, and Misao was crouching in a particularly convenient shadow that hopefully was masking her appearance.

Risking a shaded look over her shoulder, Misao glimpsed Aoshi Darcy's tall frame standing several feet behind her. He was wrapped in a white cloak heavily splattered with blood yet the vigor of battle had left no other mark on him. He must have scaled the building to reach the roof for she had not sensed him coming inside the house, yet the climb seemed not to have fatigued him. Instead he was poised and alert, examining her carefully if he still had not decided if she was friend or foe.

They stood motionless for a brief moment, suspended in time, a faint trace of light highlighting the curious frown on Aoshi's face. Then he took one step towards her.

"Come closer and I will flee!" Misao barked out in a deep, harsh voice alien from her own. "You will not be able to follow me."

Aoshi froze and the frown deepened. But his response was surprisingly gentle. "I wish you no harm," he said quietly. "I desired only to thank the one who has lent us...assistance." Internally, Aoshi was struggling over the proper gender to assign to the figure crouched before him and after a second's thought wholly omitted the use of a possessive pronoun. He was fairly confident he was speaking to a woman, but he had encountered persons like this before, highly skilled ninjas and spies who moved with an almost feminine grace and fluidity. And then there was that hard, masculine-sounding voice sounding from whoever it was.

The figure was silent for a moment, then spoke again. "Your thanks is not needed." The voice was harsh and deep again, but this time Aoshi was positive it was emanating from a female throat. Her notes quivered in the air, then a second sentence followed, this one slightly more gentle. "But it is welcome all the same."

Aoshi peered at the shadow figure, internally cursing the polluted London air and the coal smoke drifting from thousands of chimneys. In the dim light, it was hard to pinpoint any distinguishing features of the person facing him, and Aoshi had a fairly good idea that the stranger wished it to stay that way. But in the off chance the stranger might be willing to identify herself, he questioned quietly, "Will you not give me your name?"

"I have none to give and giving it is unnecessary," the answer returned to him. "You will not see my face again."

Aoshi digested this. He was half-tempted to resolve this mystery by force if necessary: although the person facing him was obviously quite skilled, Aoshi knew she would not be able to evade him if he pursued her. But it was not only a burning curiosity that yammered for such actions: the stranger knew much, and letting her go could spell danger for them all. However, Aoshi harbored a deep-seated confidence that she was wholly trustworthy although he had little basis for that assumption, save that she had entered the battle at great personal risk with no prior claim of theirs demanding her assistance.

Her voice, softer and feminine-sounding, broke in on his musings. "I must go." The slender shoulders turned as if to prepare for departure and Aoshi felt something tugging at his heart, compelling him to entreat her continued presence. But he held himself back.

The stranger moved to the lip of the roof as Aoshi's eyes followed her every move. But before she plunged into the gray darkness, she paused for a moment and included her head slightly back in his direct. "Guard them well," she intoned as a farewell. "Kanryū will not rest until he has the doctor back under his control. He will not be dissuaded with just one defeat."

"I will," Aoshi responded solemnly. "You have my word."

"Then farewell." A sigh like the fluttering of doves' wings and she was gone, only a shimmer of that almost maddeningly familiar energy hovering in her wake.

Aoshi sighed in echo, fatigue tugging at his nerves and taut muscles knotting unpleasantly in his shoulders. He had not slept in nearly two days, and the strain of battle was pressing insistently, yet his mind was far too keyed up to permit any part of his body to rest, tension flowing in his veins.

"Aoshi," Kenshin's calm voice drew his attention, and Aoshi's blue eyes flicked towards a small trapdoor that lead onto the roof. Although fully capable of leaping nimbly up the side of the building himself, the small redhead had chosen the traditional route of stairs to reach the roof. Violet eyes had replaced the gold of battle, but there was still a ring of amber gleaming along the irises as the swordsman continued.

"There is a rather irate police chief downstairs in the parlor wishing to know why he suddenly has a pile of groaning, prostrate ruffians to deal with, especially since a great number of them are missing limbs and a few of them are regrettably dead." Kenshin's voice was light but Aoshi could detect a thread of tension in it. Not that he blamed the swordsman.

_Saito Hajime. I would expect no less. A wolf will smell blood in the air, no matter how faint. And you are no ordinary wolf. _

Aoshi had little desire to square off against the chief of police but Saito Hajime had his own particular brand of persistence, and wolves did not take kindly to being ignored. As tempting as it would have been to simply leave everything in Kenshin's capable hands and let Sano and Saito clash violently as they had done on numerous occasions (with Sano forever coming out rather badly), the Darcys stood down for neither man nor wolf and Aoshi Darcy never shirked a responsibility.

Kenshin was waiting patiently, blood the color of his hair spattering his white gi and pink hakama. He too bore little trace of weariness, but Aoshi could sense fatigue and deep sorrow shimmering in his _chi_. Aoshi's eyes narrowed. _They came in great numbers to slaughter us and those we protect, yet you restrained your hand from killing and even now you mourn those who died in the struggle. You are a strange one, Kenshin Himura._

But, strange or not, Kenshin was an invaluable ally and one who had become a friend. And friends did not leave each other to the wolves.

Turning on his heel, Aoshi approached the trapdoor. "Come," he said quietly to the redheaded swordsman whose eyes still shimmered with a ring of gold. "We will see what this wolf of Mibu is howling about."

**Author's note: Some of you might be wondering why Aoshi did not recognize Misao. After all, she recognized his disguised frame at the casino. The answer is that although Aoshi is highly trained in martial arts and knows women like Kaoru who can kick ass, he is also a gentleman of the 19****th**** century and has been heavily influenced by his upbringing. In Aoshi's social circle and society, ladies don't clamber around rooftops poking people with knives. Aoshi would no more suspect Misao Bennet of possessing expert ninja skills than he would expect her to breathe water and give birth to live frogs. Aoshi is rather dense and a trifle chauvinistic this way. One hopes that Misao will eventually beat this out of him. **

**On a minor note, up until a few days ago, I had no idea that Saito Hajime would be appearing in this story. He simply showed up in my office one day smoking a cigarette and demanding a role, so I decided that a wolf was just what this story needed. **


	15. A Clash of Pride and Will

Smoke curled in pearl gray drifts, filling the air with the acrid scent of burning tobacco while sharp yellow eyes peered keenly at Aoshi and Kenshin as they entered the small parlor. The tip of the cigarette glowed, a faint illumination adding to the sparse light of one candle which fitfully penetrated the still-dark room. Aoshi eyed the cigarette with cold disdain. He considered smoking a filthy habit, one not fit to enter a lady's parlor, especially when the bearer was carelessly letting ash fall where it may without regard for the flooring or furniture. Not that he expected courtesy from the wolf of Mibu.

"Aoshi Darcy." The voice was powerful with an edge of carelessness, its casual notes a cloak over the keen sharpness lurking in the wolf's eyes. Aoshi's ice blue eyes met the yellow ones coolly and his head gave only the slightest nod of recognition. "Saito Hajime," he responded coldly.

In a dark corner of the room, Sano was trying to lounge carelessly against the wall and failing significant, clearly too keyed up with the heat of battle and the presence of the police chief to assume his normal lackadaisical posture. A muscle twitched in Aoshi's jaw as he sensed Sano's energy grumbling below the surface and the tenuous grip the fighter had on his temper._ Spoiling for another beating again, are you, Sagara?_ he thought with a sniff. Sano's rivalry with Saito was legendary, and the tall brawler had never come out of an encounter with the chief of police unscathed, but the brawls had apparently begun to pound some sense into the lanky fighter, evidenced by the fact that the two men were in the same room and nothing had broken yet. _Perhaps a few dozen more bouts of beating at the hands of a wolf might shape you up nicely, Sagara,_ Aoshi thought fleetingly, but his attention was not long diverted from the four-way glaring contest between the men which was currently reaching Titan-level proportions. Aoshi was mildly surprised that they all weren't burning holes in the walls.

Saito broke the silence. "My, my, you three had some fun this evening," the drawl wafted up with the cigarette smoke. "Dear me, I've not had to clean up after a street brawl this large in years." A yellow eye swept them all, piercing intent lurking under the casual veneer. "Care to tell me what all the fuss was about?"

Aoshi had a sharp suspicion that the chief of police knew exactly what had transpired that night and was just tormenting them for his own twisted amusement, but it was Kenshin who responded. "We had offered protection to one who desperately needed it," the slender redhead stated calmly. "There was an attempt to bring her back to her captors. We merely prevented this from happening."

Saito sniffed audibly, a wicked grin unpleasantly curling the corners of his lips. "Well, your _prevention_ of the recapture of Doctor Megumi Takani," he began, the nasty smile sharpening as Kenshin and Aoshi's eyes flickered in realization and Sano jerked away from the wall in angry surprise, "by Takeda Kanryū has, most unfortunately, resulted in a large pile of groaning, bleeding men and what will prove to be a very tedious and time-consuming mound of paperwork. Not to mention," the yellow eyes narrowed to predatory slits, "Her Majesty does not look too favorably upon private citizens who take the law into their own hands, particularly if it results in a high body count." Saito inhaled a long drag at the cigarette, his eyes never leaving the three men.

"Then arrest us," Sano said darkly, heat simmering in his voice. "But I wouldn't get too distracted by this battle if I were you." The fighter had resumed his casual lounging against the wall, his heavy bangs falling down around the bandana wrapped around his forehead and forming a curtain around his scowling features.

Three heads shifted his direction as Sano's scowl deepened and his hands migrated further into his pockets. "Look, Kanryū's gotta have a backup plan somewhere – guys like him always do," he continued with an impressive amount of restraint and no small measure of thoughtful logic. "I've been thinking about it – the doctor said she's the only one who knows how to make Spider's Web, has been for almost two years since her mentor died. Kanryū's pushed her to give up the formula but he's not tried to torture it out of her yet so no one knows about it but her. But having just one person know how to make Spider's Web is stupid: if she escaped or died from some illness or," Sano's frown darkened, "suicide, Kanryū's screwed. Hedging all his bets on one person's a dumb business gamble and since Kanryū hasn't forced her to give up the formula yet after all this time, that makes me think he's got something else up his sleeve than just Spider's Web."

Saito, Kenshin, and Aoshi had listened to this speech with serious consideration heavily laced with a healthy dose of skepticism, but the logic of Sano's thoughts was plainly evident. It was a well-reasoned speech and Aoshi gave Sano a brief nod of respect, his estimation of the lanky street fighter rising a further notch or two. But Sano wasn't finished.

"Who's to say all this isn't a smokescreen?" he questioned darkly. "Sure, Kanryū doesn't want to draw any attention to his shady dealings especially opium, but maybe he's hoping to distract us away from something else. Dealing in opium's not illegal after all, so just what is it Kanryū's trying to hide?"

Glowing at Saito, Sano continued, "I heard wolves are pretty good about sniffing things out and not getting side-tracked on a trail," he ended with very grudging respect dragging clumsily from his vocal cords. He quickly covered it up with a cocky sneer and rumbled, "If I were you, Saito, I'd get to sniffing and do it quickly. If Kanryū realizes we're on his tail, and he probably does or will real soon, he'll move fast and try to shake us."

The men were interrupted by the stomping of feet and something squealing in fear like a pig being hauled off to the butcher's block. Three bobbies half-dragging a protesting man appeared on the edge of the parlor, touching their caps in respect. "Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Hajime, but we thought you'd be interested in seeing this." With a shove, their prisoner went flying across the room to land in a crumpled heap in front of Saito.

"Well, well, Gavin Bagrill," Saito sneered, reaching for the sheathed sword resting at his side and using the tip of it to lift the man's quivering chin. "As I recall, you very narrowly missed the hangman's noose a few years ago. Back on the shady side of the law again, are we?"

"I ain't done nothing wrong!" the man squeaked, desperately scrabbling to his feet but unable to rise more than a few inches due to the expert prods of the sheathed sword in Saito's hand. A thin smile twitched on Aoshi's mouth: Saito Hajime was the only member of London's police force who had express permission from the crown to carry a sword and he wielded it with deadly accuracy. Along with Kenshin and Sebastian, Saito was another swordsman fully able to stand up to Aoshi's twin _kodachi_. The wolf of Mibu would be a formidable opponent to vanquish, and the dark side of London feared the strength of his _gatotsu_. But should the challenge ever be presented, Aoshi would face him with pride and gladly show the full strength of the Oniwanbanshou.

Bagrill, however, was obviously very much wishing he was anywhere else than right in front of the wolf of Mibu. A gray pallor was spreading across his face, helped considerably by the beads of sweat dotting his forehead as Saito's sharp yellow eyes drilled into him. "I'm in the employ of a respectable business man, I am!" Bagrill yelped in weak defiance.

"Respectable," Saito repeated the word mockingly. "Then that would explain the Gatling gun and the mob of, oh, what looks like fifty men sent against just three. Very respectful indeed. Yet still," the sneer deepened, "you had your asses royally handed to you on a silver platter." Bagril gulped audibly as Saito's grin sharpened. "Kanryū will be most disappointed in your performance. In fact," Saito's long fingers swept over the sheathed weapon, caressing it almost lovingly, "if I've estimated Kanryū correctly, getting fired is the least of your concerns right now."

Saito's smile would have cut diamonds, and Bagrill's already colorless face blanched even further. The cogs churning frantically in his head were nearly audible, and after just a moment or two of panicked thought, he blurted out, "I want to turn Queen's evidence!"

"Really? How sporting of you." Saito's bemused tones were shot through with cruelty. Jerking a head at the three bobbies, he commanded, "Get him out of my sight. I'll deal with him later." There was some further scuffling as the prisoner was hauled away, his feet thumping slowly as if they were leading him towards the gallows. Then the room was silentl again as the chief of police turned his attention to prior matters.

"As for you three..." Saito began, but Aoshi interrupted him smoothly.

"We have our own particular duties to the crown," he said with that sort of room-filling finality that makes itself heard no matter how quietly it is spoken.

The yellow eyes gleamed as the wolf of Mibu eyed the tall swordsman levelly. "I could have you all arrested for disturbing the peace, reckless endangerment of innocent civilians, and, ah yes, harboring a fugitive from the law," Saito stated conversationally, but there was no mistaken the threat lurking behind his words.

Aoshi's eyes became glacier. "Must I remind you, Police Chief, that I am outside your jurisdiction?" Challenge roared in the air, filling the small room, but Aoshi knew that he had the upper hand. He was well aware that Saito knew Aoshi reported to the crown and while Saito would have liked nothing better than to lock Aoshi away purely for his own amusement, the wolf of Mibu had his own leashes restraining him and grudgingly accepted the fact that it was in his best interests if Aoshi was free to pursue his own leads. Circumstances had forced their cooperation in the past, and it was apparent that another session of extremely reluctant collaboration was manifesting itself once Saito was finished playing the bad cop and ready to get down to business.

"Cut the crap, Saito," Sano rumbled irritably. "Look, lock me up if you like. It wouldn't be the first time I've ended up in the slammer and I know you're itching for a chance to kick my ass into the Tanty. But you know as well as I do that Kenshin and Aoshi will do you a hell of a lot more good outside than inside. So why don't you knock it off and either help us or get the hell outta the way?"

Sano rose a further several feet in Aoshi's esteem: it seemed the hot-tempered brawler possessed more brains than Aoshi had originally credited him for and he was, on occasion, capable of successfully reining in his temper. However, the restraint was clearly fraying by the minute: Sano and Saito were glaring at each other so hard that Aoshi was half-expecting their respective eyeballs to pop loose from their sockets and start tussling violently on the parlor floor. The accompanying mental picture nearly made him laugh out loud, but Aoshi irritably pushed the absurd image aside. Battle fatigue and stress could do such curious things to one's mind.

Saito casually lit a fresh cigarette, but Aoshi could see his mind working intently. Letting loose a cloud of smoke, the policeman fixed an eye on Aoshi and said, "You've been investigating Kanryū." It was a statement, not a question, and Aoshi barely acknowledged it with a nod. "Fine, then I want to know what you know and you'd better have information my men haven't already uncovered." Saito stretched back indolently in the chair, one long finger beginning to tap pointedly on the upholstered arm. "I also want to talk to that doctor woman."

"Ms. Megumi is under my protection," Kenshin said quietly, his _chi_ rippling with protective energy. "She has been a prisoner for years and was forced to manufacture opium, an act that she despised. She deserves the full protection of the law." There was quiet warning in his voice.

Saito snorted. "Give the stupidest of my men a week and he would uncover enough evidence to get Megumi Takani hanged in any English court of law," he stated mercilessly. As he spoke, the powerful _chi_ emanating from Kenshin grew stronger and Aoshi sensed the golden gleam of battle rising in the swordsman's eyes.

Saito ignored the redhead and continued. "But the doctor's not the point – I intend to see Kanryū's head on a plate, and I don't mean that metaphorically." There was a hungry gleam in the eyes of the wolf and Aoshi felt his fingers automatically reaching for his _kodachi_. Kenshin's face was calm but there was a barely perceptible tightness to it, and Sano had left the corner and was standing rigid, his fists clenching and his shoulders beginning to draw upwards.

The quartet of angry glowering and quiet but intent saber-rattling was interrupted by the appearance of Kaoru, disheveled from battle but standing alert and holding a laden tea tray in her arms. Ignoring the palpable angry energy emanating from the men and the haze of testosterone clogging up the room, Kaoru marched firmly into their midst, her eyes bright and defiant and her movements brusque.

"You must forgive me, Mr. Hajime, where are my manners?" Kaoru thumped the tray down on a small table with enough force to rattle the teacups, a tight smile on her face. With the brisk, efficient movements of a highly peeved woman, Kaoru poured a cup of tea and stabbed it like a spear right in front of the police chief's face, quietly daring him not to take it. "What with the huge battle we had last night to protect an _innocent_ civilian and all our neighbors who _might_ have been hit by bullets from that Gatlin gun, we're a little disorganized this morning. But," Kaoru's smile had not a grain of friendliness in it, "I'm sure you'll be concluding your business here soon and concentrating your efforts on stopping Kanryū."

Aoshi bit back a smile as he watched the interaction unfold. It was clear that Kaoru would think nothing of grabbing her _bokken_ and cheerfully bashing it over the head of her unwanted guest should the occasion call for it, and Aoshi was not too entirely certain that the eventual outcome would be in Saito's favor. _What a warrior that one is,_ he thought to himself. _Kenshin has chosen well. _For one brief moment, Misao's bright smile rose to his mind like a sunbeam, and Aoshi felt a hollow punch deep in his gut. But he resolutely pushed the thought away.

"Tea, Mr. Darcy?" Kaoru questioned firmly, and Aoshi waved her off with a small word of thanks. Truth be known, he was parched from battle and so ravenous he would have happily fallen upon every last edible on the tea tray and quite possibly the tray itself, but he would show no human weakness, not while the eyes of a wolf were observing his every movement.

_A wolf of Mibu and a watchdog of the Queen, _Aoshi thought darkly. _We will see who howls loudest._

* * *

><p>"<em>Miss?" <em>a soft voice poked through the muddled, chaotic darkness of Misao's troubled dreams. She groaned and rolled over, dragging the pillow with her in futile attempts to shut out the intrusion.

"_Miss_?" something tapped her shoulder, pulling her away from oblivion, as sore muscles began shaking themselves awake, sending the beginning yammers of pain drifting up and down her body.

"_Miss_." The voice was more urgent. Groaning, Misao poked her head out from the chrysalis of bedding and demanded owlishly, "_What_?"

"Begging pardon, Miss, but it's near four o'clock and the young master sent word that he wishes to see you." Tae's pleasant face was a soft blur as Misao's fuzzy eyes slowly readjusted themselves and the world began spinning into focus. It wasn't a pretty picture when reality did present itself in fullness. Pain was very much alive and fresh, strained muscles knotting themselves up in every limb as an enthusiastic headache sprang to life and began hammering at Misao's temples. Before collapsing into bed that morning, she had smeared some of the doctor's ointment on her wound and wrapped it up with bandages from a secret stock she kept in her bedroom. But the bullet wound still hurt significantly and would hinder her movements until it healed, most likely leaving a visible scar behind.

_One more for my scar collection,_ Misao thought as she groggily pulled herself up to a sitting position, her nose quivering to life at the scent of hot chocolate wafting from a small tray on her nightstand. She had only had chocolate once or twice back home as a special treat but life as Madam Noir came with a generous living allowance, enough to afford not only chocolate but a servant who made a superlative cup of the decadent beverage. Thankful that the wound was not on her dominant arm, Misao lifted the china cup to her lips and inhaled the fragrant steam as Tae busied herself around the room. Misao watched her idly, trying to marshal her thoughts for the day and process what had happened the night before, confused memories of blood and screams pounding at her mind.

_Did I...?_

_Did I really...?_

_Blood. I reek of it. _Misao did not need to sniff to catch the sour scent of perspiration and the metallic tang of blood on her skin. She hoped Tae hadn't smelled her and the thought made her burrow a little deeper inside the covers, the aftershock of battle beginning to manifest itself and clamor for attention.

_I..._

_I...killed. _

_I..._

Misao tried to push the dark, chaotic thoughts aside before she started screaming or just lay there blinking for several hours. In the past several months, she had grown remarkably skilled at pocketing unwanted thoughts for leisurely perusal later, but the clamoring memories of the fresh bodies she had left behind pressed heavily upon her, weighing down her limbs and dulling her thoughts. The delectable chocolate turned sour in her mouth, and she heavily set the delicate cup back down on the tea table, mind idly toying with bits of memories and hazy impressions of the battle. With listless eyes, Misao dully watched Tae pick up a length of black fabric and froze as she realized just what garment the maid was industriously shaking out.

_Oh no! _Misao thought frantically as Tae briskly snapped the black fabric and began folding it carefully. Misao had always been so careful to tuck away her _alternative_ outfits in a hidden spot, carefully tucked away from the eyes of her diligent maid, but sheer exhaustion that early morning had apparently rendered her careless. Nervously, Misao eyed her maid; the black shirt between Tae's fingers was far too masculine-looking to be part of Madam Noir's wardrobe, plus Misao highly suspected that it bore splashes of blood from her last adventure. But Tae's pleasant, calm expression did not change an iota as she carefully folded the garment and set it neatly on top of Misao's dressing table, then turned to straighten a few items on the mantlepiece.

Feeling her heart slowly retreating to its normal pace, Misao drew her brows together in a puzzled scowl, peering at the white cap covering her maid's neat brown curls. _Just how much do you know, Tae, or suspect? _But whatever thoughts, knowledge, or schemes were lurking behind Tae's soft brown eyes, the maid was setting about her usual tasks, nothing suspicious or uncustomary hovering in her movements. After a few minutes, Misao decided to let the moment pass and renewed her vow to keep her knives, ninja outfit, boots, and any other incriminating evidence safely tucked away.

Wriggling a little to find a more comfortable spot under the covers, Misao caught another whiff of not-so-pleasant fragrance emanating from her skin. With a frown, she pushed the blankets back and announced, "I want a bath, Tae."

Thanks to Misao's regular nighttime activities, morning baths were fairly common in Madam Noir's household and Tae did not blink an eye as she murmured, "Yes, Miss," turning lightly to bustle into the bathroom. The bathroom had been a rather startlingly modern aspect of the apartment that had delighted Misao to no end. At home, baths were in a big metal tub that did double duty as a washtub. In her new quarters, provided courtesy of Phantomhive estate, Misao had been surprised to find a small room devoted solely to ablutions and heavy on porcelain. But the most amazing discovery had been a metal faucet from which hot water poured forth in glorious abundance. The deep tub equipped with indoor plumbing had been a much welcomed alternative to crouching in a small metal basin half-filled with tepid water, and Misao had very quickly learned the delights of a long, leisurely soak, particularly after a night of heavy exertion.

The flushing toilet, however, had taken some getting used to. Tae had carefully explained how to use the strange device which bore the name of "Valveless Water Waste Preventer" and was patented by a certain Thomas Crapper, which caused Misao no end of mirth every time she caught a glimpse of the branding mark on the toilet. Her father's sense of humor had trickled down to her, and Misao knew far more slang terms than was proper for a lady. But humorous name or not, the device was a resounding improvement on the traditional chamber pot.

Before her new life as Madam Noir, Misao had heard of indoor plumbing, some newfangled American craze that had yet to take on much interest in England. When you had servants to bring you water whenever you required and take away human waste when you were finished producing it, having gallons of water piped directly into your house to make cleanup easier wasn't high on your list of priorities. But Misao was aware that without the indoor plumbing that was currently dumping steaming hot water into the the big tub, Tae would be lugging up heavy buckets from the downstairs kitchen and bearing away noxious pots to be emptied and cleaned. Misao had not been in London too terribly long before she realized that quite a few homeowners and servants saw nothing wrong with flinging the contents of chamber pots and old bath water out into the open streets, irregardless of who might be passing by. Indoor plumbing was a tremendous help to a maid's duties and hopefully would prove to make London much cleaner and less odorous.

Stepping out of bed, Misao stretched her arms, wincing at the tightness in her shoulders and the painful ache of her wound, then stopped, frowning slightly. As part of her duties, Tae helped her mistress bath and there was no hiding the long gash on Misao's arm. It would be a private bath this morning less Tae become suspicious. Shrugging into a silk bathrobe, Misao strode into the bathroom where the nearly full tub was steaming extravagantly and frothing pleasantly with the foam of rose-scented bubble bath.

Tae stepped forward to slip the robe from her mistress's shoulders, but Misao waved her away. "I want to be alone. You are dismissed." Tae's face did not change as she bent her head lightly and moved from the room, leaving Misao to drop her tense, war-worn body into the liquid embrace of the steaming hot water. A moan of relief and pleasure slid from her lips as she leaned back against the tub, feeling tension and stress float away and dissolve in the rose-scented froth. Carefully positioning herself so that her wound stayed out of the hot water, Misao floated happily in a cloud of bliss, the deep tub swallowing all but her head and the tips of her toes as time slipped past in a rose-colored haze. Her eyes drooped, the heat lulling her to sleep but she resisted its soothing beckon. Despite the bliss of hot water, duty called so after a decent interval of of luxurious soaking, Misao reluctantly hauled herself out of the silky water's clinging embrace and reached for a fluffy towel.

Redressed in her silk robe, Misao trudged back to her bedroom, trying not to think about what the young earl might have in store for her that evening and chewing worriedly over whether or not her activities of last night had somehow caught his ears. Sebastian possessed an uncanny ability to ferret out all sorts of interesting information, and Misao would not put it past him to somehow discover evidence of her involvement in last night's battle. But the sight of a letter sitting on her breakfast tray soon drew her attention, and Misao picked it up, pleased to see it was addressed in Tsubame's elegant handwriting. With all the stress and obligations she had been dealing with in London, Misao had been less than dutiful about writing home, and she picked up the letter with some guilt, trying to remember the last time she had corresponded with her sister.

The creamy envelope slit with a quick slash from the elegant envelope opener on her desk, and Misao's blue eyes perused the letter, eagerly at first, then alarmed, and then frantic as her right hand flew to her mouth in shock.

_My dear sister, _

_I do hope this letter finds you well and in better health. Forgive my abruptness, but I am afraid a terrible calamity has befallen our family. I am deeply sorry to report that our sister Ayama has most abruptly and alarmingly run off with a young man by the name of George Wickham and we have no word as to her whereabouts. _

_Mr. Wickham is an officer in the army, and his regiment was recently billeted in town. You know how our sisters do carry on about officers, and they have been visiting town every day to see the regiment. Through mutual friends, Mr. Wickham was introduced to our family and at first, he seemed the very model of respectability. He is an amiable and handsome-looking, and we all were quite taken with him, I am sad to report. If we had only know of his character sooner, Papa would have never allowed him to cross the threshold, but I am ashamed to say we were much deceived! _

_Mr. Wickham claimed much knowledge of Mr. Aoshi Darcy and made it know that he had been quite badly treated by the gentleman in regards to a settlement that should have passed on to him at the death of the elder Mr. Darcy. My dear sister, you have so long scorned Mr. Darcy for his disdain and his impertinent proposal to you that I am afraid I wholly took Mr. Wickham's side. My eagerness to see your honor defended and your good sense justified rather blinded me to some obvious defects of Mr. Wickham's character which began manifesting themselves after a short acquaintanceship. _

_Ayama paid Mr. Wickham much attention as she is wont to do to any handsome young man. I am afraid she is a terrible flirt and I do wish that our dear Papa had been more stringent in her discipline and more wary of her interest in our new acquaintance. Yet Papa's recovery still continues slowly and I believe that he was thankful for the attentions of what appeared to be an upright young man who was giving our family much courtesy and care. Imagine our terrible horror and fear when three days ago, Okon went to Ayama's room in the morning and discovered she had decamped in the night, leaving behind only a note saying she had run away with Mr. Wickham to be married!_

_My dear, I must share an even worse story – we are now anxiously awaiting word that the marriage has actually taken place at all! The unlucky couple have been spotted in Brightham and at Trotterville, but none of our family has been able to establish contact and there is no concrete evidence that they have actually been married yet. Papa is at this very moment searching for them although his strength is so weak he can barely walk and the effort must be a terrible strain. Uncle Gardiner and Dr. Gensai are actively searching for the couple as we speak and we at home are anxiously awaiting news. _

_My dear sister, I am so sorry to burden you with this news when your health is so frail. I held off writing for a few days in hopes that Ayama would be restored to us and this difficulty resolved quickly, but it appears this will be no small matter. What is to come of our young sister, I shudder to think!_

_I will write as often as I can and give you all information as it comes to me. Please continue in health and try not to be anxious._

_I am yours in all love, _

_Tsubame_

The letter dropped from Misao's fingers as she clenched both hands to her mouth and sank back on the bed, breath gasping in her throat as shock and rage roared through her. _Ayama! No! How could you be so foolish! My sister! Father, why did you not heed my advice and keep her closer in check! _Misao buried her face in her hands, warring for control and mindful of Tae's presence in the bathroom, quietly cleaning up after her mistress. Despite what the maid might suspect of her mistress' true identity and purpose, Misao would keep her facade, despite the pain.

Cut off from her family, bereft of female counsel, Misao suddenly wished very much that the Marchioness of Milford was still in London. The woman was imperial, demanding, and harsh, but at her core, Misao knew that she was kind. Her thin lips would narrow at the news and Misao knew that she would spare no words of scorn for the foolishness of Ayama, but the Marchioness would have had some ideas to what could be done. But she was in Bath and a letter would take a week or two to reach her.

Misao checked the postscript of Tusbame's letter. Almost ten days had passed since Ayama's flight, and every day was crucial. But what could she do in London to help her family when the Phantomhive estate demanded its due of her?

_Tell Ciel, _her mind ordered her calmly, and Misao bit her lip worriedly. She had little hope of finding mercy in her stern employer, but perhaps he would have some advice. It rankled deeply to give her employer more evidence of how her family was falling more and more on hard times, but her sister's future and the honor of her family was at stake. She would swallow her pride and beg for help if need be.

Angrily shoving the letter inside a drawer, Misao called out, "Tae! I want to get dressed! Hurry, girl." Tae appeared from the bathroom and began the long process of enrobing her mistress in midnight silk and blood red fabric as Misao's mind whirled and crashed with a thousand emotions.

* * *

><p>"Very unfortunate for your family," Ciel said flatly, dropping Tsubame's letter on the tea table. There wasn't a hint of emotion in his words, but Misao was agitated enough for the both of them.<p>

"This is the worst possible thing Ayama could have done!" Misao said frantically. "She could ruin the entire family! Everything I have worked for!" They were seated in the elegant sitting room with Sebastian at work serving them both tea, but Misao paid not the slightest attention to the exquisitely handsome man at her side. Even the cool touch of his gloved fingers against hers as he placed a teacup in her hand did nothing to raise any sort of reaction out of her, so intent was she on the issue at hand.

"Calm yourself, Misao," Ciel said with a slight frown. "No one is dead yet." The young lord was in his normal indolent posture, reclining negligently in his chair, and Misao scanned his face to see if any trace of compassion or humanity was lurking somewhere, waiting for a chance to come out for air. Nothing she saw gave her much hope and panic began rising in her.

"It might almost be better if she were dead!" Misao's voice rose louder. "Even with a good dowry as an incentive, few men would marry into a stained family! How on earth will my sisters have any sort of future if..."

"Misao, I said _calm down._" Ciel's voice was sharp but his posture changed from casual reclining to an upright alertness. A finger rose to his chin in a gesture Misao knew as the one exposed eye narrowed. Silence fell over the room for a moment as she fought to regain her composure. It took everything in her being not to march out of the room and commandeer the first horse carriage she encountered to search for her sister herself, but Misao forced herself to remain put and see what her employer had to say.

Ciel spoke after a few moments of thoughtful silence. "This is a job for Aoshi Darcy."

The name startled Misao greatly and for one moment she gaped stupidly at the young lord. "You _know_ him?"

"Yes. An old friend of the family." Ciel paused and his voice grew tight. "He knew my father. They were good friends." Misao had seen the family portrait hanging in the great hall and had heard the tragic story of the young Phantomhive family that had died in a terrible blaze, their estate consumed in the flames. The boy had somehow escaped the fire and after a few month's absence had returned and at his side was a tall man with eyes that gleamed like blood diamonds.

But Ciel was speaking again, "And you know him too. He has spoken of you." A flush rose to Misao's cheeks as she wondered just how much Aoshi had confided to the young lord. But if Ciel had been informed of the scorned proposal, he kept it to himself as he continued, "Aoshi is a resourceful man with an uncanny ability to find things that do not wish to be discovered, and I don't think he would refuse to help if you asked him. But..." the blue eye fixed firmly on Misao, "that depends on if you are willing to accept his help."

Misao swallowed, feeling pride and desperation squabbling violently in her innards. The thought of asking Aoshi Darcy for any sort of favor, much less one this imposing and scandal-filled, made just about any other activity, including walking barefoot over broken glass with a cobblestone in each hand, seem preferable. But need trounced ego, and Misao tightened her jaw resolutely. "For my family, I would do anything."

Ciel nodded, "Then go into the parlor and write to Darcy. Give the letter to Sebastian and he will see it delivered quickly. But," Ciel scowled. "Darcy is not to know of our arrangement. It would not assist your mission in recovering your sister and would probably retard it. Do not mention my name at all."

"I won't." At that point, Misao would have agreed to just about anything if it promised succor for her family. Meekly, she let Sebastian lead her into an ornate writing parlor and set creamy paper, void of any incriminating watermark or embossment, in front of her. Misao stared at the parchment, wondering exactly how to beg a favor from someone whom you once scorned and insulted and who has no pressing reason to answer your petition. Pride was yowling for attention and it took all of Misao's strength to put pen to paper and resolutely throttle ego to compose the dratted thing. With much thought and more than a few scrunched up sheets of priceless paper, Misao's letter finally came to life.

_Mr. Darcy, _

_I must humbly beg for your assistance although I know full well I have no right to do so but there are no options available to me. If your sense of justice and mercy are greater than my own pride and stubbornness, then I beg of you to help my family escape the great danger to our honor that we currently find ourselves in. _

_I am most distressed and ashamed to report that my young sister Ayama has most recklessly and imprudently run away with a Mr. George Wickham whom I believe is an acquaintance of yours. Much to my family's anxiety, we are unable to locate the wayward couple and there is much concern that the wedding has not actually taken place. _

_I am deeply grieved to have burdened you with this news and words cannot express the shame this has befallen my family. Had I any other choice, I will not beg of your assistance, but my father's illness has left him without his full faculties and even now he is out on the streets searching for my sister despite the strain this must be upon his still-weak body. My relatives are searching too, but there is little sign of the fugitives, and I greatly fear Ayama is lost forever. _

_I have no other recourse but to throw myself upon your good graces and beg for you to help in anyway you feel led. _

_Your obedient servant, _

_Misao Bennet_

With a final scratch of her pen, Misao put the writing implement down and tiredly perused the letter. Every word rankled her soul, her mortally-wounded pride clinging to life by a thread. The paper reeked of desperation, and Aoshi Darcy had every right to toss the missive in the fire the second he received it. But the pitiful note just might compel the assistance of the gentleman and save Misao's family from utter ruin. That was worth the tremendous bruising to her ego.

Finished letter in hand, the envelope carefully inscribed with Aoshi's name, Misao wearily trudged back to the sitting room where the young lord sat waiting. She wordlessly pushed the envelope into Sebastian's hand and seated herself numbly in her normal spot, barely noticing as the butler proffered a fresh cup of tea.

The young master watched Misao carefully and as her exhausted eyes met his one blue orb, she was dully surprised to see a flicker of humanity in their depths. With an uncharacteristic gentleness, the Phantomhive lord said quietly, "Aoshi Darcy is a good man and a gentleman to his core. I do not think he will refuse you."

"He has every reason to do so," Misao sighed in resignation. "I...he made me an offer of marriage a few months ago," she said with a dull blush. "I...refused him."

"I know," Ciel responded with the same quietness edged with a skim of concern. "But I would not worry overmuch about that." Misao's mouth opened, then shut. Too much had transpired in the last twelve hours and her mind was threatening to go on strike altogether. Silence was a preferable option.

Ciel spoke again. "I would leave everything in Darcy's hands and not worry about it too much, Misao. He will set everything to rights. In the meantime," his voice took on the flat, business-like tone that was his accustomed speaking pace, "We have work to do."

_Work. Always work,_ Misao thought to herself. She had absolutely zero interest in the mission at hand and was seriously contemplating just slipping off quietly that night and leaving the whole Phantomhive mess behind her but if and when Ayama was discovered and the entire situation rectified if at all humanly possible, the future of the Bennet family needed securing. And Misao was currently the only one capable to seeing to it that her sisters had decent dowries and her parents' needs met. Not to mention that Misao had long since become convinced there was nowhere she could go that Sebastian would not find her, that the long fingers of the Phantomhive estate would never loosen its grip, no matter how far she fled or how cleverly she hid.

As Sebastian handed Misao a thick sheaf of paper, the young woman had a sudden, panicky feeling of the walls closing in on her, squeezing her into the very fabric of the Phantomhive manor and all its secrets. She was learning too much, seeing too much, and was beginning to suspect that she had signed herself up for life, that the earl of Phantomhive would never discharge her and that Sebastian's curious ruby eyes would never leave her.

_Don't think about that now,_ Misao ordered herself._ Focus on the job at hand. Trust that Aoshi will find Ayama. Stay on course. Outwit Kanryū. And stay alive. That's all you have to do. Stay alive. _

**Quick history lessons, kiddies. Yes, there was a Thomas Crapper and he was one of the most influential figures in the development of modern sanitation. No, the word "crap" existed a long time before he did. And that is your tidbit of history for the day. Feel free to giggle. **


	16. Who is Most Resolute?

**Author's note: lately my list of writing projects is ever-burgeoning, but I have not forgotten about Misao and Aoshi! Here is another chapter for you. Also, feel free to follow my new blog at steamygirl (dot blogspot) (dot com) This is a blog mainly devoted to the steampunk novel I am working on, so check it out! **

Opium smoke wafted through the thickly crowded room, mixing with the flash of jewels and scent of expensive perfumes as Misao threaded her way through the crowd, eyes alert and mind chewing worriedly with thoughts. It had been two days since Tsubame's disturbing letter, and Misao had spent much of the time pacing restlessly in Ciel's elegant London quarters waiting anxiously for fresh news. She was worried that Aoshi would first seek out the Marchioness of Milford, expecting to find Misao with her, and this would only delay him finding Ayama. Hopefully Aoshi, if he had actually decided to lend his assistance to the scandal-filled Bennet family, was out searching diligently for the girl.

Ciel had seemed confident that Aoshi would immediately set out to reclaim the wayward Bennet daughter upon recipient of Misao's letter, but Misao was in a panic of worry that Aoshi would first try to find her, delaying her quest and potentially bringing up all sorts of awkward questions and revelations. Misao was also half afraid that Aoshi would somehow run into her on the street or wring vital information out of the Marchioness which would trace back to Ciel's doorstep. This was particularly worrisome because the young lord was resolute that Aoshi would know nothing of Misao's connection with the Phantomhive estate. However, Misao was burdened with a pressing feeling that the fates were inexorably pushing herself and Aoshi together and that her secrets would not remain safely hidden for long.

Thankfully, the young Phantomhive lord had kept his agitated employee fairly busy and distracted, for which she was grudgingly thankful, and had sent her out to yet another raucous party the next evening to rendezvous with Kanryū and artfully coax more information out of him. The party had proved to be as cacophonous and flowing with alcohol and opium fumes as she had fully expected, but the sharp, keen edge of subterfuge was currently crowding out concerns about her family. Instead Misao's blood was thrumming with alertness, eyes sliding quietly around the room to search out her quarry.

Kanryū was surely to be in attendance, wouldn't he be? It was not his party, but Misao's keen nostrils were analyzing the odors swirling around her and she was almost positive that the opium being recklessly consumed around her was of Kanryū's creation. There was some suggestion of cinnamon notes in the scent, barely discernible, but Misao's sense of smell was finely honed and her subconscious was nodding in recognition. Kanryū's fingerprints were everywhere, and she was confident that the man himself was somewhere in the riotous throng. With his wares prominently displayed and consumed everywhere she looked, it was logical that he was somewhere in the vicinity and she simply had to find him or make him aware of her presence.

Misao moved through the crowd feeling somewhat exposed – this was not a masked party, and her face was innocent of disguise save the artfully crafted makeup shading her features. Devoid of her lace mask, Misao was well aware of the risks involved and knew full well that as she drew closer to the goals set by her resolute employer, the stakes increased exponentially and the margin for error widened. Hence the reason why beneath her flowing gown and tightly laced corset, Misao was wearing a practical shirt and pants and had several sharp knives secured around her person, including inside one dainty boot that, despite its feminine appearance, was much sturdier and flexible than it look, and with a slip-proof sole for extra maneuverability. If danger threatened, several slashes of a knife would rid Misao of both dress and corset, stripping her down to an outfit she could move easily in and which lent itself well to escape. Then there was the added benefit that a crowd like this presented so many options for instigated chaos and confusion; once an uproar broke out, a petite person like Misao could easily lose herself in the turmoil

However, as Misao gracefully ducked and slid through the crowd and the minutes passed, Kanryū was nowhere to be found. Newcomers kept flowing into the room, packing it wall to wall and making it even more difficult for Misao to surreptitiously scan the room looking for her prey. The sumptuous mansion was filled with rooms and it was entirely possible Kanryū was somewhere else, but Misao had quickly noted that the epicenter of the party was in this large, grand ballroom and it made sense to thoroughly check the for her target before seeking elsewhere. The fact that she was significantly smaller than most of the people in the room and was hampered by an exceedingly voluminous dress did not help matters much either. The heat of the room was making her thirsty, but Misao was not at all eager to quaff whatever it was servers were bringing around on trays. Unless she saw it being poured directly from a sealed bottle with a recognizable label, she had no intention of drinking it.

With growing concern, Misao artfully pushed her way through the crowd, trying mightily not to appear as if she was searching for someone when a faint curl of voice shot into her ear and nearly knocked her senseless with its aching familiarity.

_No! I..._..Misao clamped down firmly on her frantic surprise and instinctively fluttered up her lace fan to cover all but her eyes, disguising her appearance as she carefully edged towards the source of the sound, every sense kenning for more information.

A portly gentleman virtually covered in lace and reeking of strong perfume which mixed with his body odor was blocking Misao's way but as he shifted to better flirt with his conversation partner, an opening suddenly appeared, bringing Misao within a few feet of a laughing girl with brown curls falling like a waterfall around her youthful face.

_Ayama! _Misao screamed to herself, raking the girl with her eyes to make abundantly sure of the young one's identity. But it was most unfortunately true; Ayama's pretty, slender figure enrobed in the light blue dress she loved so much, white ribbons bouncing in her hair, the way she tossed her head and sent her curls dancing, the flutter of her fingers, every gesture and line of her youthful frame was intimately familiar to Misao. Only a few seconds of careful perusal behind the safety of her lace fan was enough to convince her that her younger sister was only a few feet away.

Ayama was clinging possessively to the arm of a handsome fellow in military garb that Misao recognized as the uniform of an officer. _So this must be the cursed Mr. Wickham_, Misao thought as her fingers itched for the knives tucked away in her clothes, mind already toying with what would be the best method of disposing of the bastard. As Ayama held her right hand up in a girlish gesture, Misao's eyes narrowed, straining through the smoke-filled room for a better view. With a sinking feeling, she analyzed her sister's fingers and saw nothing adorning the small hand, not even a thin gleam of gold to mark her sister as a properly married woman.

_No, _Misao thought, warring mightily between tears and anger, at once wanting to descend upon her sister like an avenging goddess and also break down in sobs and gather the poor wayward child in her arms. One foot stepped forward automatically, Misao's entire frame leaning towards her sister, aching to hold her close when suddenly the words of her employer ripped through Misao's mind like a sword thrust.

_You cannot let anyone know of your true identity, Misao, _the young Phantomhive lord had admonished her. _It is not just the death of the queen's favorite nephew and the safety of the crown that is at stake. Tens of thousands, both in London and the Orient countries, are currently being ruined and ruining others with the opium trade. It must be stopped. Whatever the cost, you must stop it. Maintain your secrets at all cost. Do I make myself clear?_

_But...I... _Misao thought, foot stepping down hesitantly on the slick marble floor. Ayama was gazing up at Wickham with a look of complete adoration, but he was coolly avoiding her eyes, and Misao detected the slightest lean of his body as if he wished to avoid contact with the girl. Misao's anger blazed hot to see his subtle rejection of Ayama.

_You risk your own life as well as others if you are discovered. _Ciel's remembered voice was harsh in Misao's mind.

_But...but my sister. _

_What could you do to help her? _Now it was Misao's own reason, cool and analytical, breaking through the welter of emotion. _Ayama willingly brought herself into this. If you make a fuss in the crowd, this will draw everyone's attention in a way that you don't want. You won't help her by confronting her now. You now know where she is. Wait until she leaves, and then follow her. And then...well, figure it out when you get to that point. _

It took all of Misao's force of will to step away from her sister, blend back in the crowd as the lace fan dropped limply from her face and her eyes closed. For one moment, she clenched her fists and mustered all of her sheer force of will to stay hidden and observe the situation until Ayama was somewhere quiet and could hopefully be reasoned with. Misao had marked her sister's energy and knew that she could keep track of the girl's location, allowing Misao to bid her time and wait until her sister left the building and could be confronted quietly. And then there was the wholly unpleasant matter of Wickham to deal with, preferably with something sharp and pointy in hand.

So wholly consumed was Misao with her sister that she was paying scant attention to her surroundings. Therefore, it took her completely by surprise when she stepped around a tall, stout woman blocking her way and, to her absolute astonishment and shock, nearly ran straight into Mr. Aoshi Darcy.

Misao froze as her distracted eyes fell upon a tall frame and then widened with recognition as they traveled upwards and met a pair of ice blue orbs that were staring at her with almost stupefied disbelief. Despite the makeup artfully contouring her face, Aoshi was clearly not fooled: he had obviously recognized her in the split second it took for the two to glance at each other and both parties had pulled up short in complete shock, completely ignoring the people around them. There was nowhere to hide and no real purpose in doing so; Aoshi had recognized Misao, and she knew fleeing from him would only send the gentleman hot on her trail.

Misao's entire frame stiffed as if she had just been flash-frozen and she could not tear her eyes away from Aoshi's face which was currently playing an interesting slide show of disbelief, shock, and what looked like steadily growing anger. For several century-long seconds, the pair stood almost chest to chest, eying each other without moving, the crowds seeming to flow and swirl around them as if Aoshi and Misao were boulders in a river and the massed people were water redirecting itself around their fixed mass.

So taken back was Misao that her normally quick brain was currently blank of what to do next, not a neuron flickering in her mind and nothing but confused emotions fitfully sparking to life inside her cranium. Aoshi seemed to be entertaining similar leanings but he recovered more quickly than Misao and drew himself up sharply in a way that made Misao wince in anticipation.

"_Ms. Bennet._" Aoshi's voice could have squashed a carthorse and his eyes were effortlessly cutting through Misao as if she was made of marzipan.

Misao gritted her teeth and raised her chin to stare at Aoshi impudently but her courage wavered under his icy stare. His eyes were so coldly intense that trying to bear up under them was a bit like walking through a sleet storm in just a chemise. Misao was finding it very hard to maintain her resolve under Aoshi's quietly furious eyes and was increasingly aware that he was firmly seizing control of the situation, even more so when she felt his long fingers grasp her upper right arm and began deftly steering her through the crowd.

Aoshi's grip was relatively light but his fingers were wrapped around Misao's upper arm in such a way that she knew it was pointless to attempt an escape. Bowing to the inevitable, she meekly let Aoshi tow her through the crowded room. Despite the growing sense of doom Misao felt percolating in her stomach, she could not help a faint blush rise up on her cheeks at the touch of Aoshi's hand, even though she could sense controlled fury and unbreakable resolution in his gesture and could see the wooden rigidity of his spine as he expertly cut a pathway for them through the crowd.

People seemed to melt away from Aoshi, sensing the palpably angry _chi_ flowing out from his tall frame and guessing correctly that the gentleman in question would bode no implement to his path. Aoshi icily ignored them all as he plowed through the crowded room, pulling Misao out into a hallway and inside a small parlor faintly illuminated by a fire crackling on the hearth. Aoshi steered Misao firmly towards a chair pulled up to the hearth and said, "Be seated, Ms. Bennet," with a voice that brooked no disobedience.

Misao sank into the chair, her mind frantically churning with ideas, discarding alibis and lies almost as quickly as they sprang into existence. With a sinking heart, she watched as Aoshi moved purposefully back to the door and locked it firmly, then stepped across the room to lock the window and draw the curtains, every motion deliberate and giving clear evidence that he was fighting for control with every fiber of his being. Dully, Misao wondered if she should point out that it was highly inappropriate for the two of them to be ensconced alone, and any person of society to see them thus so would think the worst, but considering the circumstances, propriety was not high on her list of concerns.

Aoshi paused in his motion of drawing the drapes closed, and Misao could see the tense set of his shoulders. Silence was screaming in the parlor and every snap and crackle of a log sounded like cannon fire, making her agitated with restlessness. The seconds dragged by at glacial pace as Misao's nervous, belligerent eyes bored into the back of Aoshi's head. Part of her was furious that she was letting Aoshi cow her so easily, but there was something (or more accurately, quite a lot of somethings all merging together) that was keeping her meekly fixed in her seat and firmly closing her mouth for her.

Finally he spoke. "Ciel brought you into this," Aoshi said, each word heavy as lead but perfectly controlled. It was the voice of a person who needed no answer and was merely stating fact.

Misao saw no point in lying. "Yes," she responded simply, her eyes dropping to her black-gloved hands.

Several more decade-long seconds limped painfully past before Aoshi spoke again. "I will speak with him about this."

Silence descended once again before Aoshi's voice broke it for a second time. "That was you the night Kanryu's men attacked." Again, the question was a statement but one edged just so slightly with hope that the speaker was in error.

Misao saw no reason to bolster that hope. "Yes," she answered, this time a touch defiantly. Aoshi said nothing for a long pause, and Misao wondered dully what he would mention next. There didn't seem to be much point in either volunteering or withholding information; Aoshi obviously possessed a very keen, perceptive mind that was quickly assessing the situation and drawing connections with swift accuracy. She half-expected Aoshi to bring up Kanryū as the next topic of interrogation but instead the tall man turned like a planet rotating on its axis and she very nearly cowered under his expression. His marble features were perfectly controlled but there was no disguising the cold anger emanating from his very pores as if he was coldly weighing just how much punishment he would be soon unleashing on the guilty parties, herself included.

Misao forced herself to look him in the eye, and Aoshi returned her gaze coolly, his expression inscrutable save for the carefully manacled anger. A tiny muscle twitched in his jaw as he said levelly, "I will escort you back to wherever you are staying so that you may retrieve your possessions. Then I will bring you back to your family..."

"No," Misao interrupted, her head shaking slightly.

Slow, hot fire sprang up in Aoshi's eyes as his face darkened. "This is not a negotiation, Ms. Bennet," he pronounced, sharpness pricking in his tones and Misao knew she had to act fast if she had any hope of warding off the oncoming storm and making him understand the urgency of the situation.

"No!" Misao repeated, a trifle frantically. "You don't understand, my sister Ayama is here! In this very place! She ran away with Mr. Wickham almost two weeks ago and we don't even know if they are married! I can't..." Misao trailed off as Aoshi's brows furrowed in a dark line. Realizing she was being less than effective at pleading her case, Misao stopped and tried again.

"Did you not get my letter of two days ago?" she asked worriedly, and Aoshi's brow furrowed more deeply.

"I did not have the pleasure," he responded, some of the anger leaving his voice, and Misao, detecting a faint glacier thaw, pressed forward hurriedly.

"Mr. Dar..._Aoshi_. Please, listen to me." With hands slightly trembling, Misao quickly spilled her tale to the dark-haired gentleman. The wayward sister. Her own impudent scamper across a roof which had piqued the interest of the Phantomhive manor. Her father's accident and the dire financial straits that had led her to join hands with Ciel Phantomhive and his dark butler. Kanryū's sneer and the ever-twisting web of opium. Everything.

Misao's narrative was concise but comprehensive as she quickly unburdened her secrets and Aoshi said not a word, moved not a muscle, his eyes never leaving her face as she told her tale. As her story unfolded, the anger raging in Aoshi's ice blue eyes was replaced with something she could quite not name. When she finished, he said nothing for several moments and seemed to be warring inwardly as to how best to proceed. His next words came at a complete surprise.

"Was my offer of marriage so reprehensible to you, Ms. Bennet, that you preferred to risk your life, your honor, and your future by giving your allegiance to Phantomhive?" Aoshi said with surprisingly quietness and there was a note of genuine pain and sadness in his tones.

Taken aback, Misao twisting her gloved hands together and thought hard. Her mind had been so wholly consumed with her sister's plight and the shock of encountering Aoshi Darcy that she had forgotten about his embarrassing proposal. It seemed part of another lifetime and another world and she flushed to recall it. Clearing her throat, she responded hesitantly, "I...I met you the same night my, eh, _unique_ talents came to the notice of the earl. Not long after that, my father fell ill. I had to act quickly and I made my choice. I chose the one option that would secure my family's future and not bind me to a man I nether loved nor respected. Your offer to me came long after I was under the employment of the Phantomhive lord." Then her eyes flashed and she glared at Aoshi, "And then there is the matter of Tsubame..."

"I wrote to Bingley not long after I wrote to you of the matter," Aoshi interrupted quietly, his words again surprising her. "I informed him that you and I had met and you had countered my assumption about your sister's feelings. I told Bingley that perhaps I was in error and that if his thoughts were still bent in the direction of your sister, he would not be wrong in ascertaining if she would still welcome his favor." He paused for a moment, then continued, "If I have erred in my estimate of your sister's regard for my friend, I will do everything in my power to rectify the situation. I can do no more. Will that not satisfy you?"

Misao chewed on the inside of her lip. Taken as a whole, the entire situation was quite absurd, almost farcical, that they would be sitting here calmly discussing his rejected marriage offer while opium was being consumed in wicked quantities around them and the wild laughs of alcohol-soaked people were leaking in underneath the heavy parlor door. But Aoshi was waiting for an answer.

Finally, Misao spoke, "Would you have wanted a wife that had married you simply to prevent herself and her family from financial ruin? Was that not what you were trying to protect Mr. Bingley from?"

Aoshi's darkened eyes flickered as they measured her evenly, weighing her words. When he spoke, his voice was gentle but solemn, "For you, Ms. Bennet, yes. I would have gladly taken you as my wife, knowing you did not love me, rather than..._this_." He spat the last word out as if it was rotten in his mouth, then breathed in sharply. "For you are honorable enough that you will not marry a man you did not at least respect, but I fear I have lost that as well in your eyes."

Misao dropped her eyes from his face and felt the infernal blush rise up in her cheeks again, inflaming her temples. After a few seconds of awkward silence, she forced herself to speak firmly. "This is not the time to discuss this, Mr. Darcy."

Aoshi looked at her and she saw something hard and resolute slide in front of his eyes, blocking off emotion as if the man was setting aside all feeling for the cold comfort of rationality. "Agreed," he said levelly. "My first concern is your safety..."

"No," Misao interrupted. Aoshi's eyes narrowed but she continued with firm determination. "Your first concern is my sister's honor and that of my entire family. That is of paramount concern."

Aoshi had been standing several feet from Misao but he began to walk towards her with firm footsteps, steel rising in his voice. "Let me repeat, Ms. Bennet, my first concern is removing you from this situation and taking you somewhere safe."

"_No_," Misao stood to her full height, such as what it was, and clenched her jaw obstinately. Aoshi's energy shifted and Misao felt the resolute, rigid force of his will bearing down on her and clashing against her equally determined stubbornness. They glared at each other, each bent on out-staring the other, but Misao was resolved to match Aoshi's force of will with her own. "I fully appreciate your concern, Mr. Darcy," she said tightly, "but please be assured that I have been part of this situation for many months and I well know the danger. My father has trained me well and..."

"Ms. Bennet, as I said before, this is _not_ a negotiation," Aoshi pronounced, a warning curl of heat rising in his voice, and Misao realized with a sinking heart that arguing with him was pointless. She had a looming feeling that further debate would only end up with the gentleman simply slinging her over his shoulder and carrying her bodily out of the mansion while she kicked and screamed and damned who would see them.

Quickly changing tactics, Misao dropped her eyes and said quietly, "You would leave my sister as prey to Mr. Wickham? An innocent girl in the hands of a man dishonorable enough to seduce her from her family? You would see my father shamed and my mother's heart broken?" Willing herself to let a tear well up in her eye, Misao raised her head to look at him pleadingly. She hated the sound of her voice, furious that she had to resort to tears and feminine wiles to break down Aoshi's determination. Simply beating the gentleman over the head with the nearest blunt object until he saw reason would have been infinitely preferable and satisfied her ego. Yet, she had an overwhelming impression that Aoshi Darcy could neatly handle any blow, knife, or deftly wielded chair leg that came his way and that engaging in a physical spat would leave her the loser. Tears it would have to be.

To her grudgingly relief, the waterworks seemed to have some effect because Aoshi's granite features softened a fraction as he glimpsed the sheen of tears in Misao's eyes. For several moments he looked at her, clearly warring over the best course of action before he spoke again. "I...I cannot leave you here unprotected, Ms. Bennet," he said, a trifle thickly.

Silver gleamed in the light of the fire as suddenly a _kunai_ was in Misao's hand, its blade gleaming as sharp as her eyes that had no more trace of tears in them. "I am not unprotected, Mr. Darcy," she said quietly.

Aoshi looked at the knife in recognition for a long moment, then sighed and reached inside his tailored suit coat to retrieve something which he placed in Misao's hand. "I believe this belongs to you," he said heavily. Misao stared in surprise to see one of her own knives in her hand, an unfamiliar sheath hiding its keen edge. _I must have_...she trailed off, then closed her eyes, remembering the bloodbath of three nights ago.

Aoshi watched her closely and Misao wondered faintly what he must be thinking of her. No longer a delicate lady of standing, but now a soiled woman tangled up in opium and intrigue and with blood on her hands. Sighing audible, Misao said in a voice almost a whisper. "I killed two of them that night."

"I know." Aoshi's voice was equally quiet. He paused for a long moment and Misao felt dread rising in her. He continued, "I am sorry, for your sake, that such actions were necessary. Yet," he paused again and the next words seemed to be dragged reluctantly from his tongue, "As much as I wish you had not been there to expose yourself to danger, for the sake of those whom you protected, it was...bravely done." The last two words were uttered with a mix of respect heavily painted with extreme reluctance, but Misao took them at face value. At least Aoshi didn't look like he was aching to revert to their former argument.

Hoping to catch him on a good note and before he changed his mind, Misao inclined her head towards the door. "I should go," she said. "I leave my sister in your hands."

"Ms. Bennet." A firm hand clasped upon her arm, and Misao flushed again as she felt heat and a strangely electrifying energy race up her limb, filling her with a curious sensation of giddiness. Aoshi's eyes were intense and his face twisted strangely as if he too was caught in a whirl of emotions that he was manfully trying to suppress without much effort. Heavily he said, "_Please_. Do not make me abandon you here to your fate." There was almost supplication in his voice, and Misao knew enough to suspect that Aoshi Darcy never begged for any favor. But his words still angered her as much as they stirred her blood.

Misao jerked her arm neatly out of his grasp. "I ask you, _sir_, do not abandon my sister to _her_ fate," she said testily. "Mr. Darcy, listen to yourself. I killed two men three nights ago! There is blood on my hands! I have spent the whole of my life training under my father in ways to spy and stay alive and what I am doing now, I had a lifetime to prepare for. I promise you, _I will not fail_. I have too many lives riding on this..._venture _to do so."

She was almost panting with intensity and emotion, and Aoshi's hot fingers against the thin fabric of her sleeve was not helping matters much. His blazing eyes did not leave her face as she continued, "I only ask this of you: _trust me. _This is a matter great enough that I am willing to risk and if you know as much as I know, you would agree that the cause merits the risk."

Aoshi was silent for a moment, the agitated jaw muscle dancing. "My own risk, yes," he said quietly but firmly. "Not yours. Never yours."

"Well, it is mine and it has been for some time now," Misao said, almost proudly. "I am not ashamed of it, nor will I cower from it." They both froze, suspended in their own world of conflict and wills for several moments, then Aoshi's fingers loosened slowly and his hand dropped from her arm.

Heavily, Aoshi pronounced, "I deeply regret this, Ms. Bennet."

"Well, I don't," Misao responded, holding her chin up impudently, defying Aoshi to stop her.

He didn't. With the movement like a mountain shifting on its foundations, Aoshi turned from her, his shoulders rigid as iron. "I will restore your sister to your family, Ms. Bennet," he said tightly over his shoulder. "All that I ask in return is that you take every precaution you can."

"I will," Misao promised and before she could change her mind or, even worse, burst into tears and throw herself on Aoshi's shoulder, she squared her jaw and marched resolutely for the door. The hinges creaked under her hand and the noise of the party smacked her like a rough wave as she pulled the door open. _Good_, she thought grimly. The riot of sound around them would hopefully have prevented any nosy interlopers from hearing what had transpired in the parlor. Without another word, Misao stepped forward and closed the door firmly behind her.

* * *

><p>Aoshi stood rigid and watched Misao's lithe young figure exit the room, the door slamming behind to hide her from his eyes. Aoshi clenched his fists at his side, every fiber of his being demanding that he go storming out of the room and sweep Misao off to safety in his arms, away from this whole fiasco and back to the safety of his own house where she belonged. It was wrong, dastardly wrong, to leave a woman to such a task, and Aoshi had never felt so helplessly impotent as he did now, knowing that beyond the door was nothing but danger, drugs, and predatory men lying in wait for tender young unchaperoned females.<p>

_You promised,_ the voice tugged at his mind. Growling, Aoshi shoved it back. _Perhaps I lied_, he snarled darkly.

_She asked you a favor. Begged you, more aptly, _the voice persisted. _Will you both abandon her and refuse the task that she requested you complete? Are you that low of a man...?  
><em>

_Silence! _Aoshi ordered murderously, his body already acting independent of his warring mind as he crossed the room in three angry strides and tore open the window's shutters. Fury gave him wings and he scaled the building in moments. His feet quickly hit the rooftop where the pearl-white moon shown down on him and a cool breeze fanned his hair, taking the edge off his white-hot anger.

Resolutely, Aoshi forced himself into a meditation exercise, willing calm control back into his movements and firmly tamping down his broiling rage until he could trust himself to act rationally again. As the minutes ticked past, his heartbeat finally slowed and the normal coolness returned to his eyes.

Aoshi drew in a deep breath of the air, wrinkling his nose faintly at the scent of opium and London pollution wafting on the breeze. His own man again, his thoughts turned towards the task at hand and the faintest of grins twitched his lips.

_George Wickham. You continue to be a thorn in my side. Yet, _the slight grin turned sharp. _Your folly has extended much too far this time. I have been patient. I have been reasonable. I have dealt with you justly. But now there is no justice. There is only me. And I do not think you will care for what punishments I will met out to you._

* * *

><p>Inside the crowded room, ignoring the babbling young woman at his side, George Wickham shuddered as something cold ran down his spine. <em>That's odd<em>, he thought with a frown. He had the strangest sense of doom coiling around his innards, and he tried to shrug it away with an abrupt gesture.

To drown the feeling, George reached out and took a flute of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter. Yet, the drink was halted half-way to his lips as the glass suddenly disappeared from his hand.

"Oh thank you, love!" Ayama purred as she laughingly took a swig of the champagne she had just neatly commandeered, George watching her with a faint frown on his face. He was beginning to entertain deep doubts about this entire venture: Ayama was sweet and pretty, to be sure, but she had the most irritating giggle that rasped down his spine like a cheese grater and he was quickly realizing that the girl didn't have two thoughts to rub together. He had hoped some financial compensation would be forthcoming from this impromptu romantic interlude, but from what information he had gathered from Ayama in the past fortnight, the Bennet family was much poorer than they appeared.

Looking at the rapidly disappearing champagne and the girl quaffing it greedily, George fleetingly wondered if it was perhaps too late to quietly return Ayama to her father's house and pretend the last two weeks had never happened. But his thoughts were quickly interrupted by a loud squeal from his purported beloved.

"George! Look!" Ayama babbled and pointed boldly in the crowd. "Mr. Darcy is here! Oh darling, it looks like he wants to talk to us!"

_Darcy?_ George thought in stupification and turned his head in the direction Ayama was pointing. To his complete shock and sudden, bowel-loosening fear, Aoshi Darcy was bearing down upon them with all the slowness and gentleness of a cannonball, cold angry flashing in his eyes.

George's raised hand dropped limply to his side as his lips formed two soundless words. _Oh. Shit._

**Author's note: I am actually going to be integrating some of this story into the steampunk book I am working on which features England's opium trade. This story has been good research and prep for my book – read my blog for new updates!**


	17. Courage Under Sorrow

**Author's note: I was having catastrophic levels writer's block with this chapter, but a breakthrough finally emerged. Here are the results!**

Sebastian's ruby eyes glittered at he carefully set the thin china cup down on the elegant mahogany table, not a sound echoing as exquisite pottery met finely polished wood. "Ah, I see we have a visitor who is most eager to speak with my young master," he said with the barest show of a smile.

Ciel was staring moodily into the depths of the fire, brow furrowed slightly in thought, and it took him a moment or two to respond. "What? I'm not expecting anyone and you haven't let anyone in..."

"I believe this one has let himself in," Sebastian's long fingers loosened their hold on the fine china as his master frowned at him.

"Don't talk nonsense, Sebastian, I know very well that you don't allow anyone in the house unwelcomed," Ciel reprimanded sharply but his words were interrupted by the heavy footfalls of someone approaching them very rapidly and taking absolutely no pains to mask his arrival.

Within seconds, the heavy door of the sitting room was thrown back with impressive force as Mr. Aoshi Darcy apparated in the door frame, filling it with his rigid shoulders and the palpable wall of cold rage than encircled him like an army of bodyguards. Normally immaculate, Aoshi's hair was falling in unkempt locks around his forehead and his clothing was travel-stained and disheveled. His eyes glittered with a cold fury, almost feral in nature, like a wild beast restrained by only a thin leash.

The blazing blue orbs cast their razor-sharp glance towards Sebastian as Aoshi jerked his head curtly and rapped out harshly, "Sebastian, if you value your life you will leave. _Now_."

Sebastian's smile was beatific but a glint of something keen glimmered in his eye as he stepped forward to intercept the other man, Aoshi's eyes scoring blazing channels across the butler's immaculate clothing. "Mr. Darcy, a pleasure to have you at Phantomhive, as always," Sebastian replied gracefully as he discreetly moved to position himself directly in front of his young master, shielding him from their visitor's fury.

Aoshi's eyes became even more feral as he strode forward directly to confront Sebastian who did not move a millimeter from the path of the oncoming man. "Get out of the way, _butler_," Aoshi snarled, each syllable as sharp as the edge of a sword.

The two men froze, eyes locked and tall frames coiling inward to strike, each waiting for the slightest movement of the other to signal the start of battle. Ciel's voice broke through the silent storm of conflict swelling around them.

"Leave us, Sebastian," the boy lord's voice was firm.

Even at the command from his master, Sebastian did not move from his position. "Are you sure that is the wisest course of action, my lord?" he said quietly, still blocking Aoshi and not turning his eyes from the other man's furious stare.

"Do as I say," Ciel's voice was sharp. "Aoshi won't hurt me. I'll hear what he is so eager to tell me."

Sebastian and Aoshi stayed frozen, locked in their quiet battle of wills for a long moment before Sebastian moved gracefully aside and placed a hand on his breast, bowing as Aoshi stepped rigidly forward into the room, each footfall as heavy as lead. The path to the doorway now free of obstruction, Sebastian glided elegantly through it and closed the door gently. Barely had the latch clicked than Aoshi had covered the distance between himself and Ciel in three angry strides to stand directly in front of the Phantomhive lord, towering over the boy who sat negligently in his wing-backed chair.

Peering down from his considerable height, Aoshi clenched his hands at his side and growled out, "Give me one reason why I should not horsewhip you within an inch of your life."

"Calm down, Aoshi," Ciel said flatly. "This is not like you."

With a snarl, Aoshi sized Ciel's jacket in two angry hands and lifted the lad up to his blazing, furious face. He was deeply satisfied to see a pang of fear cross the young lord's face as his one exposed eye widened in shock.

"I want an answer, _boy_," Aoshi growled, his white teeth bared and flashing.

Ciel struggled, composure severely disturbed as he fought to free himself from his vengeful elder's ire. "Aoshi, unhand me at once!" he demanded, fear mixing with indignant pride as Aoshi shook him violently, barely restraining the urge to squash the imp into a damp ball of broken bones, and dropped him unceremoniously back in the chair.

The second the boy's bottom hit the rich upholstery, Aoshi slammed his hands down on the arms of the chair and leaned in heavily. Their faces almost touching, Aoshi snarled sharply, "_Why Ms. Bennet? _I want to know now, or God help me, I will turn you over my knee and beat you like the cur you are."

"I'll tell you!" It was only the curl of fright in the boy's voice that broke the spell of madness in Aoshi and he froze in place, his eyes dropped to his clenched hands gripping the chair's arms so tightly he was surprised the wooden frame underneath was not shattering. In a second, both hands would be around the boy's throat if he didn't regain control of himself.

With supreme effort, Aoshi withdrew a pace or two but did not let his eyes leave Ciel's. In his fury, he could barely see the young lad he had sheltered since birth – in the child's place was an enemy to be ruthlessly destroyed. Aoshi clenched his fists again, digging his fingernails into his palms to bring himself back to reality and the world slowly swung into focus again.

Ciel had righted himself too, settling back in his chair and steepling his fingers together in a thoughtful gesture, once again assuming the mantle of cool insolence that was his accustomed manner. "Do you want to know how I was first introduced to Ms. Bennet?" he said, his voice nearly flat and emotionless once again.

Aoshi did not bother to respond, merely glared at him coldly. Ciel ignored him and continued. "Sebastian found her on the rooftop of Tory Pines eavesdropping on Han'nya giving Shikijo orders about Sir John Edgington's assassination."

Aoshi's jaw tensed as he intook a sharp breath of air. Ciel kept his eyes fastened on the fire as he moved forward with his tale. "She was clearly a resourceful young woman, highly skilled and well-trained. I wished to know more of her. And when I probed deeper, I discovered that her father was as poor a financial manager as he was exceptional at gathering important information, not to mention instructing his daughter in the ways of subterfuge. The Bennet family was rapidly approaching poverty. I offered Ms..._Misao_ a chance to reverse their fortunes and to put her considerable talents to use."

Aoshi's eyes had not moved from Ciel's face, and he interrupted tightly. "You..._dared_ put a lady in such danger? Have you no scruples whatsoever?"

"I had enough scruples not to leave her in a life that was killing her," Ciel responded flatly, coolly ignoring the way Aoshi's eyes sharpened as the slightest sign of puzzlement pushed through the anger.

"You only know her as a society lady, Aoshi," Ciel continued. "Misao has brains, talent, and courage and also a deep conviction to do what is right. To condemn her to a life of serving tea and marrying some idiot with a fancy title would have been a waste of her skills and eventually crushed her, body and soul. I needed her, but you see," Ciel lifted his eye for the first time to meet Aoshi squarely, "she needed me too. I gave her a purpose and dowries for her sisters. Her family's future is secured and she has the freedom to expend her considerable talents for a worthy cause. What more could she ask for?"

"Pretty words," Aoshi sneered coldly. "You deck your sins in them and call them good."

"I don't pretend anything I do is good," Ciel responded with a trace of bitterness. "I do what I have been given to do, what long generations of ancestors have handed down to me as my duty."

"Have you no shame?" Aoshi ground out harshly.

"Shame?" Something as cold as Aoshi's eyes rose up in Ciel's voice as the very fire itself seemed to blaze with frozen heat. "_What do you know of shame, Aoshi Darcy_?" he said quietly, almost in a whisper, but a sentence that stamped through the room on legs of iron.

But something had captured Aoshi's attention, sending his head snapping up and his shoulders tensing in alertness. For a long moment, he probed forth with his keen senses, then tightness drew across his face. "She is here," he intoned heavily, his jaw clenching with barricaded emotion. Coolly, Aoshi ignored the sudden, erratic thump of his heart against his ribs and forced his tumultuous inner mind into still watchfulness. He was nearly poised steel once again when the lightest click of a latch sounded and a small, slim figure gracefully slipped through an opening window into the room.

_Oh, __hells__, _Aoshi thought to himself irritably as Misao landed softly on her feet, the light from the fire falling across her graceful, feminine form that was conspicuously minus the standard attire demanded by society. Instead, Misao was lightly clad in a pair of trousers and a simple blouse, loose enough to permit movement but clinging enough to leave absolutely no doubt about the curves lurking below. Aoshi had seen women in trousers before and had visited enough houses of ill-repute on fact-gathering missions to observe women wearing much less, but to behold a full lady of society thus attired was bewildering to the point of panic. He had an overwhelming desire to throw his cloak around her, less he be wholly undone by distraction.

Misao swung her cobalt blue eyes in Aoshi's direction and looked him full in the face. Her eyes were veiled and she manifested no surprise whatsoever at his presence in the room. But as she moved forward, Aoshi wondered how in the blazes he had been so blind as to ignore the obvious that had paraded in front of his eyes so often. It was transparent at every move of Misao's feminine, yet athletic frame, that each step was precise and controlled, skill build into every muscle, instincts honed for action. He would have instantly recognized such signs in a man; indeed, men like Aoshi did not survive long unless they had a talent for marking those who could be a threat. Such people were not always male; Aoshi had met other women who could skillfully incise holes into people and escape without detection. But Misao Bennet?

God, had he really been that foolish? Why hadn't he marked her from the beginning? It wasn't the first time Aoshi had encountered a lady of society hiding a wealth of deadly skills and cunning knowledge under a coquettishly-wielded fan and an elegant dress, and his sharp eyes had been quick to uncover their secrets. But Ms. Bennet? Never had he...

Misao's full lips tightened together as she returned Aoshi's gaze evenly. Neither party moved for several long moments, both seemingly oblivious of the other inhabitant of the sitting room. Finally her expression softened and her mouth opened with a sigh. "Mr. Darcy," Misao said quietly, "However poorly you think of me or whatever words you wish to exchange, I ask you only this." Her eyes closed for a second as if Misao was steeling herself for what was to come, then she continued. "Is my sister...?" She suddenly lost courage as her voice trailed off and her eyes tilted up pleadingly to the hard-face gentleman.

It was that expression that twisted Aoshi's innards, melting his anger and quickly blotting away memory of just why he was so furious with the lovely woman looking him full in the face, her lips close to trembling with held-back tears. "Your sister is now the wife of...Captain Wickham," Aoshi responded, stifling the urge to curse as he uttered the name. "As of this morning," he continued doggedly. "I attended the ceremony as a witness and signed the marriage certificate. The newly married couple is returning to your parents under the escort of an acquaintance of mine to ensure that their journey is safe."

_And that Wickham doesn't 'accidentally' lead them astray, _Aoshi added silently. Things had not fared well for the young captain, Aoshi had seen to it personally, and he doubted that the man would be able to walk comfortably for quite some time. Aoshi would perhaps have shown some mercy if the bastard hadn't foolishly divulged that he was less than thrilled with his choice of amorous partner and hinted non-too-subtly that should Aoshi be inclined to return the girl to her father's house, her reluctant fiancè would not protest. Only the fact that it would utterly ruin Ayama to leave her as a widow before she had a husband prevented Aoshi from leaving Wickham's strung-up corpse from the nearest handy tree. But he had shown enough mercy to ensure that the groom-to-be was able to walk up the aisle unassisted. Just barely.

Aoshi had no intention of divulging this distasteful information to Misao, and from the look of frank relief that had just washed over her face, he knew that discretion was his best course of action. Misao's blue eyes closed again for a long moment and when they opened, he saw the barest glimmer of a tear trembling in her long eyelashes. "Thank you, Mr. Darcy," she said quietly. "From the bottom of my heart and the deepest parts of my soul, I thank you. I can never repay you for the kindness you have shown my family."

_Dammit_, Aoshi thought to himself as warm emotions engulfed him, completely swamping the storm of fury and cold calculation that had previously claimed him and sending odd, alarming trills of something soft and golden creeping into his veins. He was vaguely aware that in the very recent past, he had wanted nothing more than to strangle Ciel, skewer Sebastian with the nearest sharp object, and then pick a rousing quarrel with Misao until he broke down that cursed stubbornness in her. However, now standing in the light of the radiant thankfulness and relief pouring from her eyes, Aoshi could not think of anything else that was the slightest bit important, only that Misao's expression of near adoration never leave her face when she looked at him.

Aoshi was also aware that Misao seemed to be much less discombobulated by his presence than he was of her slender, elegant frame so near to him. So consumed was Aoshi with his inner struggles that he said not a word as something hard slid across Misao's expression, replacing the warmth and softness. Turning her head from him, Misao stepped gracefully across the room to seat herself in a chair facing the young lord, leaving Aoshi to stand in the middle of the room with an expression of bafflement plain on his face.

Aoshi continued to gape for several seconds as Misao turned her attention to the Phantomhive lord. "Any last-minute orders?" she questioned tiredly. It had been a very long two days since her unexpected encounter with Aoshi Darcy at the raucous party and in a way, Misao had been grateful for the distraction: Ciel had keep her busy enough that she scarcely had time to breath, let alone think. That night, after she had left Aoshi standing in the parlor and marched back into the clamorous chaos of the party, Misao had lost herself in the crowd, always alert for any sign of her sister and determinedly squashing down the clamoring worry burbling in her stomach and reverberating in every nerve. With a strength of will she did not know she possessed, Misao had walled off the anxious concern, forcing it to abide inside a mental box for leisurely examination later, and used every sense at her disposal to track down Kanryū.

After much searching, Misao had finally gotten her prey in her sights, and then smiled prettily. It was time to turn coy as their eyes met and she quickly flitted behind the shelter of a tall, broad-shouldered gentleman, waiting for Kanryū to seek her out.

"_My dear Madam Noir," a voice like oiled silk had slipped unpleasantly into her ear as she stood observing the party. Coyly, Misao swiveled her head to cock her ear enticingly in his direction. Kanryū was behind her, and his hot breath was sticky against her neck, but she fluttered her fan against her face as if pleased. _

"_You have been most temptingly absent as of late, Madam," Kanryū continued, his wet lips hovering only a few inches above Misao's bare neck. With very little effort he could have dropped his mouth to her neck, and her skin crawled at the thought. _

"_Ah, what can I say in my defense?" Misao responded lightly. "Officium me vocat. There has been much...business which calls my attention." _

"_I would be most happy to offer you my assistance if you would but accept it," Kanryū said with a purr, honey rising on his tongue. _

_Misao paused for a moment, letting her fan flutter to drive away some of the warmth of the room and Kanryū's unwanted body heat. Then she spoke again, quietly and in an intimate whisper reserved only for Kanryū's ears. "Lau is being considered for a position on the board of directors for the East India Company," she breathed to Kanryū. "I only recently found this out."_

_Kanryū inhaled and Misao could practically see the the sudden sharpness rising in his eyes though her back was to him. Such a position was highly coveted by any businessman with ambition and would put a man in considerable wealth for life if he achieved it. However, competition was brutal. The chance that his greatest rival could very well rise above him was something that Kanryū would simply not permit. _

_The air between the two was tense for a moment, then Kanryū responded slowly, "I had heard that Lord Marchweather had died a fortnight ago and his position was open on the board." _

"_Yes," Misao responded. "But..." she rose an eyebrow pointedly. "Exactly how he died is not as well known."_

"_He cut himself shaving is what I heard happened," Kanryū said, his voice puzzled. _

"_That is what is being said," Misao breathed to Kanryū. "He very well could have cut himself shaving and bled to death before anyone could help him. The coroner saw nothing suspicious about the scene. But then again," Misao's voice dropped so that Kanryū had to lean in closer, the fabric of his suit pressing against her tightly-corseted back. "I recently learned that Lord Marchweather had stopped shaving himself almost a year ago when his hands became too shaky to hold a razor blade safely. His butler is puzzled why the man had decided to shave himself that morning. And it was a frightfully deep cut for a man to make on himself unintentionally."_

_Misao could feel Kanryū's mind ticking intently. After a moment or two, he responded lightly, "Oh my pretty lady, you are deliciously resourceful. Tell me, where do you find this information?"_

_Giving him a look over her shoulder, Misao smiled mysteriously and said, "I have long discovered that many doors open to a pretty face." _

"_You are indeed correct," Kanryū responded. "But.." he paused and Misao could feel a touch of wariness rising in his energy. "This is a conversation best saved for private." Dropping his head even lower, his lips just grazed her ear as he whispered, "The balcony in the east wing. Five minutes." _

_Misao giggled lightly and rotated around to tap him on the chest with the tip of her fan. "Patience, patience, my good sir," she purred. "Do you not know that it is a lady's prerogative to arrive fashionably late if she chooses?" And without another word, Misao gathered her full skirts and sailed out into the crowded room, a tiny comet of black satin and lace traversing a meteor field of people and leaving Kanryū behind to watch her blaze a path through the crowd. _

_Misao made him wait fifteen minutes before she unfurled herself from the corner of the balcony she had been lurking in, so patently not there that Kanryū had been pacing and muttering to himself for several minutes without suspecting that Madam Noir was hiding not ten feet away from him. When she judged he was ready, she stepped gracefully from the shadows as if she had just arrived on the scene. _

_Kanryū's face creased into a smirk that seemed to strip away Misao's clothes down to her bare skin, so intense was his stare. She made eye contact as best she could, trying to send the message that his ocular suggestions were more than welcomed, despite her worry over how convincing her expression was. Kanryū, however, seemed more than encouraged by the messages he interpreted pouring out of her deep blue eyes and he strutted forward boldly to meet her. _

"_So Madam," he said oily, lifting her hand to his mouth for a long kiss, "We are alone. At last."_

_Misao murmured a throaty laugh. "Yes, indeed we are." _

_Kanryū's long fingers began stroking the back of her hand in slow circles. "So soft and frail," he murmured over her hand. _

_Misao dropped her head. "So alone," she said quietly. _

"_Alone, Madam?" Kanryū stopped in his ministrations. "I am here with you."_

_Misao said nothing for a moment, letting Kanryū intently examine her with concerned eyes as his fingers continued their ministrations. Finally she responded hesitantly, "Lau suspects that I know something about Lord Marchweather."_

_"Knows?" Kanryū frowned. "Are you in danger?" he questioned. _

_Misao bit her full lips, thinking not for the first time how much simpler things would be if a knife were to suddenly materialize between Kanryū's ribs. She had a distinct feeling Aoshi Darcy would agree with her and also volunteer to be the one steering the knife, but the thought of Mr. Darcy was rather alarmingly distracting, and she pushed past it hurriedly. _

"_Perhaps..." Misao answered slowly, letting her creamy brow knit just slightly with worry. _

_Kanryū seized Misao's hands in both of his as he gazed at her intently. "My dear Madam Noir," he said with quick decisiveness. "I cannot bear the thought of any danger or threat coming to you. Please, won't you accept my protection?" His long fingers gripped her hands tighter and Misao bit back the alarm coiling in her belly. She hated her hands being restrained and although Kanryū's grip was still relatively moderate, she could sense the strength lurking in those long, slightly sticky fingers. _

"_Your protection?" Misao repeated, pursing her lips in a moue of confusion. _

"_Yes," Kanryū repeated, and the oiliness of his tones deepened. "I offer you sanctuary in my mansion. You will be well-guarded and I swear on my life no harm will come to you." _

"_Mr. Takeda!" Misao gasped, blinking her huge blue eyes and trying hard to give off the impression that she was surprised, yet flattered. The thought of what he was offering was alarming to the extreme, and every sense was clamoring for a hasty retreat, preferably after leaving Kanryū bent over and groaning. But what he was offering her would open a world of information-gathering possibilities if she managed the situation carefully. _

"_Please, I insist upon it," Kanryū pressed. "I know Lau: he will suffer none to stand in his way and if he has any inkling that you possessed information that would prevent him from achieving his goals, he will not hesitate to destroy you." Kanryū's smile deepened as he stepped closer to Misao, grazing the front of her dress with his evening coat. "My security detail is excellent, and you will be attended with every luxury and comfort." His voice dropped lower. "Please," he said, all courtesy and concern but something glided in his tones like a snake. _

_Misao dropped her eyes demurely to the side. "I..." she hesitated, "I have my honor as a lady..."_

"_Your honor is my privilege to guard," Kanryū insisted. "I have no thought of dishonor towards you, only your safety, my lady," the man persisted, his mouth inches from Misao's forehead. She kept her eyes demure as if in thought, but she could not avoid his gaze as one of his hands loosened from her fingers and gently lifted her chin upwards, directing her eyes up to his. "I could not bear it if any harm were to come to you," Kanryū said with husky sensuality, sending Misao's skin clammy with distaste. _

_Swallowing discreetly, Misao made herself return his gaze. His other hand was still holding both of hers, and she forced her fingers to grip his hand lightly as she gazed into his eyes, carefully weighing what she found there. On the surface was courtly concern but underneath was an ocean of lust and plans and triumph raging like a wild beast. Fleeting, Misao considered simply pushing Kanryū off the balcony and fleeing this horribly place, but what he was offering her, risky as it was, could very well give her the keys to his complete downfall. _

_After a long moment, Misao responded demurely, "You must allow me a day or two to prepare."_

_Kanryū' smile exulted in triumph as his lips curved like a scimitar's blade. "But of course, my lady." _

Ciel was staring intently at Misao for several minutes as she leaned against the plumply cushioned chair, remembering the events of two days ago. Finally he spoke. "Are you sure this is an action you wish to take, Misao?" he questioned with uncharacteristic concern.

Aoshi stiffened to attention. "What action?" he demanded harshly as he strode over to where the two were seated.

Misao's eyes flashed up at him, knowing that he would not stop until he dragged the truth out of them both. Feeling inevitability staring her in the face, she responded tiredly, "For months now, I have taken on the persona of a certain Madam Noir, a lady who has involvement in the opium industry," she responded tiredly. "I have been cultivating an...acquaintance with Kanryū Takeda to draw him into my confidence and discover his secrets so that his empire may be overthrown."

"Misao has gathered much that is useful to our purposes," Ciel added. Coming from the boy lord, this was high praise indeed.

Aoshi was drawing himself upwards, storm clouds gathering in his eyes, but Misao did not waver from her tale. There would be little hiding information from the gentleman now, and she saw no point in camouflaging the truth. Continuing, she stated simply, "I styled myself as the former lover of Qing Bang Lau and fed Kanryū enough information for him to believe me." Misao turned her eyes towards Aoshi. "The night you and I...saw through each other's disguises, I made Kanryū believe that Lau was threatening me because of information I supposedly had about Lord Marchweather's death."

Misao assumed that Aoshi knew the names she was mentioning, and since there wasn't any confusion in the gentleman's eyes, so she decided further clarification was unnecessary. This left the final part of her tale, and she wearily braced herself for Aoshi's reaction.

Hemming a little, Misao stated simply, "When Kanryū heard that Lau suspected me of knowing valuable information, he offered me protection in his house. I accepted and will be entering his household tonight."

"_No." _The word seemed to echo from the heavens as Aoshi's blazing eyes rained down fire on Misao._ "You. Will. Not._" Each word was as final and absolute as the edict of a god.

Misao sighed heavily. "This is too excellent an opportunity to pass up, Mr. Darcy, dangerous as it may be. I will have much access to Kanryū's records..."

"Ms. Bennet, if I have to chain you in the basement of my own house to prevent this mad scheme of yours from happening, I will do so," Aoshi rapped out sharply in a voice that would have cut diamonds, and she knew he meant every word.

In the razor-sharp tenseness of the air, Misao laughed, a short burst of sound that held utterly no humor. "I fail to see why that is a more honorable alternative to the course I have set for myself, Mr. Darcy," she responded dryly.

"Sebastian will be with her," the young Phantomhive lord stated, interrupting the terse, angry dialogue between his guests. Aoshi's head swiveled sharply to the other chair as if he had completely forgotten about the third occupant in the room. "He will be disguised and serving as her butler," Ciel continued. "She will be safe with him, Aoshi."

"I promise on my honor as a butler that I will allow no harm to come to Ms. Bennet," a third voice rang out, and Aoshi's tight jaw hardened, practically cracking his teeth under the strain. Like a phantom, the tall, elegant butler appeared between Misao and Ciel and directly faced Aoshi. With a smile, he placed one hand on his breast and the other on the back of Misao's chair, an inch or two from her shining hair.

Aoshi's fingers automatically reached for the _kodachi_ at his side as he observed Sebastian's fingers resting on Misao's chair. The gesture was far too intimate and familiar, and Aoshi was surprised Misao and Ciel did not protest. It was then that a sharp blow of realization smashed into Aoshi: with the tale that she had just poured forth, it was patently obvious that Misao and Sebastian must have been working in close proximity for months. Misao's casual entrance into the room, her direct address of the young boy lord, her utter lack of surprise or unfamiliarity with any of the events that had proceeded that evening, all spoke volumes. Sebastian was no mere employer to his young master: their bond was far deeper, and Aoshi's rage intensified as he realized that the ruby-eyed servant had very likely become something akin to a colleague to the dark-haired young woman at his side. To see the evidence parading in front of his face and to hear that the butler would be accompanying Misao to Kanryū's was ample fuel to the dark fire of rage and jealousy tearing its hot trails across Aoshi's innards.

"I have commanded Sebastian to protect Misao," Ciel said flatly. "He will not fail me." _No, he will not,_ Aoshi added silently and the thought only intensified his fury. To know that this..._servant_ would be all that stood between Ms. Bennet and danger and dishonor while he, Aoshi Darcy, could do nothing, was more than he could withstand.

Seated not four feet from where Aoshi stood warring with himself, Misao felt shame creep over her and she could scarce meet his eyes. The task before her was crucial, and she would not shirk from it. She trusted Sebastian to guard not only her life but her honor as well. But the memory of Kanryū's smirk and the lustful triumph panting in his eyes made her stomach clench. Despite his hollow words of assurance, she knew his offer of protection was a veneer of excuse for his true objective, and it would take all of her guile and cunning to evade him until she had obtained the information her employer wanted. But she dreaded the task at hand and were the stakes not so high, she would not embark on this venture.

But Aoshi was on the move. Stepping forward to stand directly in front of her chair, he growled out, "_Why_?" his voice pushing its way though rigid lips, filling the heavy air. Seeming oblivious to the others in the room, he moved until his legs were almost brushing her knees and his head leaned down to shoot daggers from his eyes. "_Why do you sell yourself so dearly_?" Aoshi demanded, rage and fatigue sending him swaying just slightly. He had not slept or eaten in so long he could not count the days and the room seemed to be closing in on him, drowning out all but the ocean-blue eyes staring at him with courage and fear and desperate determination.

A heavy silence, as long as a century, followed Aoshi's echoing question as Misao seemed to shrink under his violent gaze, dissolving into the rich upholstery of the chair. But her small shoulders rolled upwards and her voice broke forth, quietly but with a strength like a forest. "Because I have seen the misery and sorrow Kanryū has created," she answered slowly. "I have seen the drug-addled girls forced to sell their bodies until life becomes too unbearable and death at their own hands is welcome." She paused for a moment and her voice gained new strength. "Because I have seen a doctor sworn to heal who was instead forced to make a drug that killed and the knowledge of her actions slayed her every day. Because I know countless thousands more will suffer and die if I do not do this."

Aoshi's expression had not changed but Misao was drawing strength from her own inner fire. "Because this task has come into my hands and to abandon it would shame me for the rest of my days, far more than any dishonor a pathetic insect like Kanryū could ever lay at my feet. Because I wish to die, whether it be in a week or many decades from now, with a clean conscious and the knowledge that my life had worth. Because I could not turn away from this task and face myself every morning in the knowledge of what I had left undone because I lacked courage to do it."

Silence. No one in the room moved and even the small fire did not snap or crack: it was as if the inhabitants of the sitting room had been captured on a daguerreotype, the moment in time frozen for all eternity. Misao could not tear her eyes away from Aoshi's face, not avoid the broiling turmoil of fury and helplessness and, yes, hatred, that raged in his eyes and poured over her like acid.

Suddenly the silence was broken as a roar of impotent rage erupted from Aoshi and shook the rafters of the room. As he bellowed, Aoshi stormed towards the door, ripping it open then slamming it shut with enough force to leave a large crack in the heavy wood. Thunderous footsteps sounded in the hallway and died away as the enraged gentleman tore his way through the elegant mansion and was gone.

As the seconds ticked by, Misao felt her heart began to beat once more as her pulse fluttered from adrenaline. Shakiness rose up in her nerves in the aftermath of the conflict and with danger now past, sorrow began filling her stomach like lead. _It's over,_ she thought with heart-breaking finality and grief. Aoshi had loved her once, she knew that, had poured out his heart and offered her his love and protection, and she had angrily spurned it over a misunderstanding. Yet, her rejection and their hard conversation had not cooled his affection, for he had answered the charges she had laid at his feet and done what he could to mend his error. His words of just two nights ago were not ones from a man who has wholly lost the love he once cherished for a woman.

"_Was my offer of marriage so reprehensible to you, Ms. Bennet, that you preferred to risk your life, your honor, and your future by giving your allegiance to Phantomhive?"_

"_For you, Ms. Bennet, yes. I would have gladly taken you as my wife, knowing you did not love me, rather than...this." _

Misao's full-lashed eyes closed in pain as grief washed over her. For the first time, she allowed herself to fully examine her heart and the evidence was overwhelmingly plain: against all determination, proof, and common sense, she had fallen in love with Aoshi Darcy. Having fought her feelings for so long, it was heartbreaking excruciating to finally realize this love in the same moment of time she had just lost his affections forever.

And now he was gone. Misao had read the anger and disgust in Aoshi's face as clearly as if he had struck her: he was horrified and repulsed that she would lower herself to such an action, would willingly accept the protection of another man and enter his house without marrying him. Even if it was done in disguise and subterfuge for a solid reason, Misao knew that this was an action Aoshi could not countenance, that the very notion was repugnant to him. Thus, she had become repugnant to him and had lost whatever standing and esteem she had once held in his eyes.

The realization nearly brought Misao to tears, and she bit her lip furiously to hold back her emotions. Ciel, meanwhile, was watching her with that strange, uncharacteristic concern once again in his eyes. "Are you well, Misao?" he questioned quietly.

No, she was not well. The world was falling apart under her feet like ground melting under lava, but she would not bow to the pain. Her father had taught her mastery of emotions as well as the body, and she would not succumb to grief, not when so much was at stake,

"We have work to do," Misao responded tightly, her words sharp and decisive. Rising firmly to her feet, she said, "Sebastian, I expect you at my quarters by ten. Do not be late." Tears would wait. One day in the future, she would have leisure to fully examine her newly-realized love for Aoshi Darcy and mourn what she had lost. But now was not the time. Such soft emotions could easily get her and her companions killed. For now, resolve and guile were her allies.

Sebastian bowed obediently. "At your command, my lady Noir," he said as his eyes flashed in the light of the fire crackling on the hearth.

Misao ignored him and padded quickly over to the window, her heart heavy in her breast. Before entering into the dark night, she paused, her eyes drawing back to the boy lord in the room. "Do not forget our agreement, Ciel Phantomhive," she said in dark tones.

His response was quiet but definite. "You will be safe, Misao. Sebastian will be with you..."

"I said, _do not forget our agreement_," Misao repeated harshly.

Ciel paused, and he swung his eye around to meet her, the one exposed orb piercing but with a sheen of kindness. "Your family will be taken care of, Misao, if anything were to happen to you," he said firmly. "I swear this upon my own dead family." The last sentence was heavy, and Misao's eyes flew to the painting above the hearth: the handsome man with his hand protectively on the shoulder of a lovely woman, a child with black hair and a wide smile on his face. It was in that moment that Misao realized for the first time that the ornate ring decorating the man's finger was also flashing on Ciel's hand as he crossed his fingers pensively in front of his face.

Not tearing her eyes from the ring, Misao pronounced heavily, "I accept your oath, Ciel Phantomhive," and disappeared into the dark night.

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